


the only thing i've ever wanted

by reine_dans_le_nord



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fixing D&D's mess so i can move on with my life, GOT Season 8 Fix it, Ned/Catelyn vibesssss, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, THE SEASON WE DESERVED!!!!!!!, duh - Freeform, jonsa, obviously, the ship that was motherfucking PROMISED
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-03-17 04:25:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18957814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_dans_le_nord/pseuds/reine_dans_le_nord
Summary: if only two fools, one three eyed raven and a trained assassin could communicate better.jon and sansa navigate their way through a parentage reveal, a very long night, a battle to the south and a dragon queen's wrath.*the one in which d&d do not screw everything up aka everyone gets happy endings (except a few)





	1. a stranger in the north

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a dragon arrives in the north, reunions are had and truths are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, hello, hi, welcome to yet another jonsa fix it fic. theres about a thousand floating around right now, idk about u but i could read more than that. 
> 
> so welcome! this fix it draws from events in the beginning of season 8, but will go completely divergent after episode 4 because uuuuh fuck that shit.
> 
> enjoy what could've been if d&d hadn't fucked everything up xxoxoxo

SANSA

It was an odd feeling, to be both thoroughly irritated, but still excited by a person’s imminent arrival. Sansa knew the feeling well. She’d known it since the raven from Jon arrived. The scroll in which he had declared he was no longer a king, and the North was no longer independent. Instead they were bowing to another Targaryen ruler.

Sansa tried to mask her annoyance, with a small smile and poised hands. Her childhood septa’s word rung through her mind, ‘ _a lady always keeps her temperament_.’ She’d abandoned most of her lessons throughout the previous years, but Sansa knew she would need to keep her head.

Keep her face neutral, free from disdain. Keep her hands poised, not in fists. Keep her brows raised cautiously, not scrunched above her rolling ocean blue eyes.

It felt familiar, lining up like that fateful day when Robert Baratheon came to Winterfell and changed her family’s lives forever. The line-up had changed for obvious reasons, with Sansa and Bran being the only originals still alive and present. Arya had stalked off earlier that day presumably wanting a private reunion with Jon. Sam, Ghost, Gilly and the other Lord’s and Lady’s of the North joined the remaining Starks to create this new welcome.

As the gates slowly opened, Sansa took an audible breath and braced herself for impact. Gazing over at Sam, she knew by the beads of sweat running down his face that he was anxious to see Jon as well. He’d been perpetually red for the last day and a half, and Sansa could only assume it was nerves.

They were a picture of beauty, Sansa had to admit that. Her perfect silver hair and white dress, his curly hair tied back and Stark furs. A sharp jolt to her stomach made Sansa’s polite smile quiver for only a second.  


Jon’s dark, brown eyes met hers immediately and his mouth turned up into a small, gentle smile. Sansa did not return the gesture. His queen was smiling as well, but an odd, triumphant, arrogant smile. A smile that said, “I am your queen and you _will_ bow to me.”

They were barely through the gates when Jon dismounted off his stead and practically ran for the people waiting for him. Leaving the Dragon Queen alone and to dismount by herself. Sansa had to hold back a petty smile.

Her eyes met Jon’s as he closed the distance, that smile still stretched across his tired, pale face. He greeted Sam and Gilly first, engulfing Sam and smiling proudly at the sight of his best friend in his home. Ghost was next, and Sansa watched as Jon scratched the wolf playfully behind his ears.

As he made his way to his siblings, Sansa could tell he did not know who to go to first. His eyes flickered to Bran and he walked to the boy, enveloping him in a warm hug and pressing a hard kiss to his forehead.

“Look at you,” Jon beamed. “You’re a man.”

“Almost,” Bran swiftly replied.

Sansa bowed her head and watched as Jon’s brows scrunched slightly in confusion.

After a moment of confusion, Jon looked to Sansa, and she had to hold back a grin. She had to remind herself of all the reasons she had to be upset with him.

He carefully stood up and reached for Sansa, placing his hands under her coat and bringing her in for a long embrace. Sansa almost closed her eyes and fell into Jon’s arms, but the stare from the Dragon Queen held her where she stood.

Wrapping her arms around Jon’s neck, Sansa kept her eyes locked with Daenerys’. The woman would not stop looking at Sansa until Jon pulled away, his hand lingering for but a second at her waist.

She felt his eyes on hers, but Sansa kept staring at the other woman. She remembered Littlefinger’s comment, “ _An alliance makes sense, together they would be difficult to defeat._ ” It had made her blood boil back then, just hearing the suggestion. But now staring the possibility in the face, Sansa wanted nothing more than to empty her stomach all over the floor.

“Sansa?” Jon questioned, trying to gain her attention. “Where’s Arya?”

Her Tully eyes still not leaving Daenerys, Sansa replied curtly, “Lurking somewhere.”

It was only when Jon turned back to his queen that Sansa truly looked at him. Or rather observed the way he looked at _her_. He didn’t eagerly invite her over, and he didn’t look besotted. But Sansa could never tell with Jon. Maybe he was trying to conceal his true feelings. Maybe he was trying to lessen the blow.

Daenerys walked over proudly, and alone. Her eyes wandered to the line of people in front of her, and she studied them without so much as a smile.

Jon bowed his head slightly and introduced his queen, “Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

 _Is that it?_ Sansa thought. She’d received word of her lengthy and presumptuous title. Breaker of chains and what not. Why had Jon chosen to omit it now?

“My sister,” Jon continued, raising a hand to Sansa awkwardly, “Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.”

Resuming her posture and tightening her smile, Sansa once again looked at the young woman in front of her.

“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Lady Stark,” Daenerys stated graciously. “The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed. As are you.”

Sansa’s expression hardened, her face faltering and hands dropping to her side. Looking slightly to her left, she caught Lyanna’s eye and remembered their first introduction. Lyanna’s upper lip curled slightly, and Sansa whipped her head back to Daenerys.

 _Flattery won’t get you anywhere_ , she thought angrily.  

Looking at the woman up and down and licking her lips, Sansa uttered harshly, “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”

Daenerys’ face fell at Sansa’s words, obviously expecting a different welcome. She could feel Jon’s stare on her but didn’t look back at him. How did he expect her to react? Jon brought a stranger to the North, a stranger Sansa did not welcome nor accept.

Tension was building between the three, but it was interrupted by Bran, who simply said, “We don’t have time for all of this.”

After a second of silence, Bran directed his gaze at Daenerys, “The Night King has your dragon. He’s one of them now. The wall has fallen and the Dead march South.”

The Dragon Queen’s face fell to the ground, whilst Jon simply turned to Sansa worriedly. Her face remained poised.

“Bran told me this days ago. I sent word to all of the North’s bannermen and they are all here in Winterfell,” Sansa explained before turning to speak with the rest of the Lords and Ladys, “If you could all follow me, I would like to hold an emergency council meeting.”

Sansa led the pack, walking with long strides towards the hall. She could feel Jon’s presence behind her, lingering in the air. She did not turn around.

*

The meeting was hard on everyone. The North was not happy with Jon and Sansa didn’t blame them. He left a King and came back with a Queen. They put their trust in him and he betrayed them.

Sansa left him to defend himself to Lyanna Mormont and the rest of the Northern Lords and Ladys. She would not take responsibility for his actions, nor would she defend them. Not when he did not have the decency to even consult with her about the decision.

“I had a choice – keep my crown or protect the North,” Jon concluded as he turned to Sansa, eyes pleading for approval. “I chose the North.”

The hall wasn’t happy with this response. Neither was Sansa. Any queen that chose power and absolute devotion over the lives of innocent people, was no queen of hers.

Sansa listened as Tyrion made his piece, mouth upturning in disgust as he mentioned the Lannister army coming North.

Her eyebrows raised even more, when he called Daenerys’ army the ‘greatest the world had ever seen’

“May I ask,” Sansa said as she leaned forward, interrupting Tyrion, “How are we meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen? I ensured _my_ people would be fed throughout the winter, but I certainly did not account for Dothraki, Unsullied and two full grown dragons.”

The hall went silent, and whilst Sansa was still staring at Tyrion, she could feel the sting of Daenerys’ stare.

“What do dragons even eat, anyways,” Sansa swiped, turning to Daenerys and narrowing her eyes.

The Dragon Queen’s answer was simple and arrogant, “Whatever they want.”

With a sly smile and remembering information Littlefinger had fed to her, Sansa quickly retorted, “And what is that exactly? Because I’ve heard conflicting reports. It seems like your dragons will eat anything from goats to small children.”

Daenerys’ face fell at this and her head snapped slightly to Jon, who quickly shot Sansa a warning look.

The room went silent at first, but soon it was filled with the roar of Northerner’s concerned for their safety and the safety of their children.

“Your Grace, I will leave it to you to assure my – our - people that they are safe in the presence of your dragons,” Sansa said, the smile staying on her face. Standing up from her seat, “I trust my brother will escort you to your rooms.”

Pushing her seat back and not looking at Jon or the Dragon Queen, Sansa took her leave and strode out of the hall. She didn’t expect Jon to follow, but Sansa couldn’t deny the sharp sting to her heart when he didn’t.

*

JON

She was angry with him, that much he knew. Jon knew Sansa’s act through and through, but he’d never been on the receiving end of her curt politeness. He had always imagined their reunion to be much sweeter, perhaps with a kiss to the forehead like before. But after seeing the look on Sansa’s face, Jon hadn’t dared.

Especially not with the way Daenerys had been observing the two of them, watching every move Jon makes. When Sansa had exited the hall so hastily, it took everything in Jon not to chase after her and make things right.

Shortly after her exit, he excused himself from the table.

“I need to find my sister, Arya,” Jon explained to Tyrion and Daenerys. “I haven’t seen her in years. I will have someone else take you to both of your chambers as soon as possible.”

She nodded and smiled so warmly, that he felt rather nauseous. Her affections were subtle at first, only growing ever so confident since their shared kiss on the boat to Winterfell. Jon had given in, thinking if he didn’t, she may withdraw her armies and dragons. Without those, the North was done for. His family was done for. He could tell she wanted to go further, but he’d been able to quietly excuse himself from that one. One awkward kiss was enough for Jon.

He’d barely made it past the courtyard before Bran was wheeled in front of him by a red faced Sam.

“We need to talk to you,” Sam said urgently. “Right now.”

Jon pushed his brows together and questioned, “Sam? I just want to go and see Arya. Can this wait?”

“No,” Sam said, grabbing Jon by the arm and pulling him along. “I don’t want Bran to spill it out in front of anyone. We need some privacy.”

Heart pounding, Jon directed Sam to the Godswood, the only place that he thought they could get some semblance of privacy.

They had barely even stood for a second before Sam stated, “You’d better take a seat. This is a big one.”

“Sam, enough,” Jon muttered, slightly irritated from the run around, “What is going on?”

Sam looked to Bran, who simply nodded and said, “You’re more of a brother to him than I am. You should be the one.”

Jon watched as Sam tried to gather himself, placing his hands in front of him and pursing his lips.

“Well, Jon,” Sam started with stutter, before taking a deep breath, “Your mother… was Lyanna Stark.”

The words came so quickly out of Sam’s mouth that Jon almost didn’t hear him. He didn’t have time to compose himself before Sam continued, “And your father, well your real father, was Rhaegar Targaryen.”

His legs gave out and Jon dropped to the ground, emptying the contents of his stomach out beside the heart tree. His whole body was burning, as if it were on fire. The impact of Sam’s declaration running throughout his entire body.

His whole life had been a lie.

“You’ve never been my brother, Jon. Or a bastard,” Bran stated, turning to face him. “You’re the heir to the seven kingdoms.”

With that Jon threw up a bit more, and then finally rested his head in his hands. Sam and Bran remained silent, waiting for Jon to comprehend the situation.

“How?” Jon asked, forcing himself to stand up straight. “How can you know all of this? How is it possible?”

Bran again looked at Sam, how took in another deep breath before divulging the details of his parents’ lives. Jon kept his mouth tight and his hands firmly by his side, listening to Sam’s story and trying to come to terms with his parentage.

All his life, he wanted nothing more than to not be a bastard, burdened by his father’s shame. He’s just been given his childhood dream. But Jon could not stop feeling sick to his stomach.

Ned Stark had lied to him. He had watched him suffer all of these years. Watched his wife treat Jon worse than the dogs in the kennel. And done absolutely nothing. Jon understood he was ‘protecting’ him – but at what cost?

What of his ‘siblings’, of Arya, of Sansa –

The thought of the tall red-haired woman snapped him out of his thoughts and brought him stumbling back into reality.

Sansa wasn’t his sister.

Fuck the Iron Throne.

Fuck the heir to the seven kingdoms.

_Sansa wasn’t his sister._

“Jon?” Sam said curiously. “I know this is a lot to take in - .”

Jon snapped his head up, and quickly asked, “Could I be alone for a while?”

His best friend’s features dropped slightly, obviously not expecting that reaction from Jon. He felt awful, but right now it was all too much. Jon needed time to separate the various implications from this discovery.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Jon said placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I just need … some time.”

Sam bowed his head and wheeled Bran away from the Godswood. When Jon was alone, he slumped on a log in front of the heart tree and wrapped his furs closer to him.

His mind was thinking through a million things at once, but one thought kept coming back to him.

_Sansa wasn’t his sister._

He knew he had been harbouring improper feelings for her since Castle Black. With the beat of his heart, the sweat on his hands and the quiver of his lips when she was near, Jon knew he was in far too deep with the girl. When he left for Dragonstone, he hoped the feelings would dissipate. That he could move past them and return to Sansa without feeling the need to lay his lips against hers each time they were close.

The moment he saw her through the gate that morning, Jon knew he had failed miserably. She was stood there, as beautiful as before he left. Her auburn hair falling softly behind her back within a tide of plaits. Her ocean eyes, though ice cold, shining against the soft white snow that fell around them.

Of course, none of this mattered. Even if they weren’t siblings, Jon was quite certain that Sansa would never return his affections. And he would never dare force them on her like Daenerys is doing to him.

 _Oh Gods, Daenerys_ , Jon thought. He hadn’t even thought about what she would think about his parentage. Her sole reason for wanting to sit on the damn chair was because it was her ‘birthright’. There was nothing worse Jon could think of then being on the throne, that much he knew.

But he wasn’t so sure that would be enough to convince Daenerys.

“Are you alright now, or should I come back?” a small, familiar voice said from trees behind Jon.

Whipping his head around, Jon saw Arya standing tall amongst the trees, the sword he gifted her hanging off her side. She bore no smile and did not give him so much as a wave of greeting.

“How did you sneak up on me?” Jon asked wearily, not knowing how much Arya had heard. “How much did you hear?”

Arya shot him a sly smile and said, “Enough.”

Mustering all of his remaining energy, Jon smiled softly and said, “I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”

Arya ran to him then, and Jon picked her up just like they used to. He brought her head in close and kissed the top of her head.

They remained close for a few moments before separating, hurt outlining Arya’s features.

“You still have it,” Jon said, pointing at the sword. “I thought it would be long gone by now.”  
Arya smiled and said, “Needle has kept me strong.”

“Have you had to use it?” Jon asked curiously.

She raised her eyebrows, avoiding the question. Reaching out to him, Arya touched his arm and whispered, “How are you? Truly?”

Jon couldn’t answer her, because in truth he didn’t know how he was. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. All he knew is that everything he knew was a lie. And that his suppressed feelings for Sansa were bubbling to the surface. He had fought so hard to keep them in the back of his mind. But now the restrictions were gone, his mind didn’t want to file them away anymore.

They sat together in silence for a long time, until Arya said, “You will always be my brother. You always have been my brother.”

Jon smiled, “Aye. I’m still your brother. But I’m also a Targaryen.”

“Only by blood, you don’t have to be one,” Arya said. “You can choose. You don’t have to tell anyone, anything.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Jon conceded, falling back slightly.

Arya smiled and stated, “I know someone who will. And she’s the smartest person I know.”

*

SANSA

Sansa was flicking through scrolls when he finally visited her in her office. Brienne came in first to ask her if he could enter. Sansa saw no reason why not.

Tyrion entered with a small, nervous smile. Bottle of wine in hand.

“I see nothing much has changed,” Sansa remarked, putting her scrolls down. “I suppose you need a glass?”

“Or two,” Tyrion quipped. “If you’ll join me, wife.”

Sansa snickered at the name, “I’m hardly your wife.”

Grabbing two wine glasses from the table beside her, Sansa watched as Tyrion poured them both a generous amount of wine.

“I’m sorry that I left you there,” Sansa remarked, remembering how they had last seen each other. “I wanted to go back, but there was just no time.”

Tyrion smiled and said, “There was no way Littlefinger would’ve let me aboard. He had his own agenda for you.”

“It didn’t get very far,” Sansa stated, taking a long sip from the cup.

“Many people underestimated you,” Tyrion commented. “Most of them are dead now.”

Sansa raised her glass to that.

*

They sat there drinking for a long while, long enough that it was dark out when they finished the bottle. Or when Tyrion finished the bottle, with Sansa only having two glasses.

“How do you feel about Cersei’s armies coming North?” Tyrion finally asked. “You have every right to fear her.”

Sansa smirked and placed her glass on the table, “I have nothing to fear because her armies aren’t coming North.”

Tyrion’s mouth opened slightly, and his brows scrunched in, “Lady Sansa?”

“To think I used to believe you were the smartest man alive,” Sansa stated dryly. “If you for one second believe that Cersei would willingly send her armies North, then you are not half the man I thought you were.”

Tyrion didn’t have anything clever to add, he just sat there with his head turned from Sansa. She hoped he was re-considering his viewpoint, because they were the only two alive apart from Jaime who knew what kind of woman Cersei truly was.

“I should take my leave, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said standing up and leading the man out of her office. “Thank you for the wine.”

“It is my pleasure, Lady Stark,” Tyrion replied. “It has a nice ring to it, by the way. _Lady Stark_.”

Smirking slightly and looking at his golden pin, Sansa replied, “So does Hand of the Queen. Depending on the queen I suppose.”

Tyrion did not reply, and Sansa did not stick around to listen. Dismissing Brienne for the night, Sansa strode back to her solar. Eager to be alone once more with herself.

However, as she turned the final corner to her solace, Sansa knew she had not been granted her one wish.

She had not seen Jon all day. Not since she left him alone in the hall with the Dragon Queen. She had not wanted to see him.

But here he was, slumped against her door, the same sad, pained look in his face that he always seemed to have. Sansa wandered what he was brooding about now.

Sansa still felt burning irritation by the sight of him even now, with only a twinge of happiness. It angered her even more that seeing him still brought her some joy.

“What do you want, Jon?” Sansa stated, moving past him and refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m tired.”

She opened the door to her solar and stepped through, waiting for a response. When he didn’t give her one, she flicked her eyes to his cautiously. They were filled with a pain Sansa had not quite seen from Jon, and he was in pain a lot.

Studying his facial features and demeanour, Sansa knew something had gone terribly wrong.

“What is it?” Sansa asked, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you well?”

Jon’s watery brown eyes followed her hand, before moving back to meet hers. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally found the words.

“We need to talk,” Jon croaked.


	2. a bit of faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there was a war knocking at jon snow's front door and all he could think about was how fucking beautiful sansa stark is.

SANSA

“We need to talk,” Jon croaked, his voice huskier than usual. A strange sensation formed in the pit of her stomach, and Sansa studied his features more closely.

Hurt was etched all of his face. In each crease and wrinkle of his face. But his body told a different story. His hands fidgeting by his side, milky brown eyes avoiding hers.

Pushing the door ajar, Sansa put aside her feelings of anger and betrayal and motioned him inside.

Sansa was no fool. And she wasn’t one to put personal anger over her family. If Jon needed her, she was here. Now and always.

“What is it?” Sansa repeated, once they were within the confines of her solar. “Is it Arya? Bran?”

Jon shook his head and plopped himself on the plush chair in front of the simmering fire. Following his lead, Sansa carefully lowered herself onto a chair opposite him.

“Jon,” she whispered, her hand itching to reach out and touch him.

A short silenced followed and Sansa vowed to stay silent. To allow Jon the time he needed to express whatever he was keeping from her.

Slowly, Jon lifted his eyes and looked at Sansa up and down. His eyes lingered over her braided auburn hair, over her porcelain skin. Of course, Jon had looked at her before. But never this obviously.

She watched as he brought his eyes to hers, stopping only for a moment on her lips. A spark of lightning flashed in Sansa’s stomach.

 _What is going on?_ She thought, grasping the chair’s ledge.

Jon looked into her eyes for another moment, the awful silence almost becoming too much for Sansa. She was about to open her mouth once more but was silenced by Jon’s deep voice.

“He wasn’t my father,” Jon mumbled wearily. “Ned Stark.”

Sansa’s mouth fell slightly ajar, with her eyebrows raising. Surely she hadn’t heard correctly.

“Excuse me?” Sansa asked quietly.

“Ned Stark wasn’t my father,” Jon choked out, before softly adding, “Rhaegar Targaryen was.”

Sansa remained silent at the admission, struggling to understand the revelation. It just couldn’t be. Rhaegar Targaryen’s children were murdered by the Mountain during the Rebellion. He admitted so himself.

Shifting her gaze from Jon to the flames in front of her, Sansa shut her mouth and kneaded her brows together.  
Another deafening silence passed between the two. Neither knowing quite what to say. Or do.

Still gazing into the fire, Sansa questioned cautiously, “How? How do you know this?”

Quietly, Jon told the story of her aunt and the Mad King’s son. Of their marriage and of his birth. Of the promise her father made. Of how far he was willing to go to keep that promise.

Sansa remained silent as Jon told the story, the information not quite settling in her system.

She tried to think of her father, the throne, Daenerys. But all her thoughts came back to one conclusion.

 _Jon is not my brother_.

It was a horrible thing to say. Truly selfish. Something that would break Jon’s heart if she ever said it to him.

Yet it was all she could think of.

_Jon is not my brother._

It was overwhelming; all of the feelings she’d supressed for the man in front of her were bubbling to the surface. Feelings that were now unprohibited. Feelings she’d tried to ignore. Feelings she’d sworn never to reveal to a soul.

Sansa felt a chill pass through her, shaking her to the core.

Looking over to Jon, she reached to caress his face. She felt him slightly lean into her hand before moving away. Dropping her hand by her side, Sansa tried to ignore the rejection.

“I’m a Targaryen, Sansa,” Jon stated with another crack in his voice, meeting Sansa’s gaze.

Sansa entirely understood his hurt and confusion. All of his life Jon had struggled with being a Snow; being a bastard of the honourable Ned Stark. Now he must face the fact that his life was a lie. His identity a lie.

Moving to kneel in front of Jon, Sansa tried to offer him some sort of reassurance, “You’re a Stark. You will always be _a Stark._ ”

Brown eyes seeping into the blue, Sansa willed him to believe her. To understand that no matter what, she accepted him. Targaryen, Stark, Snow – he was a part of her. Always.

Jon’s mouth twitched into a small smile at her sentiment before returning to a straight line. She knew he probably didn’t feel like a Stark. Or a Targaryen.

“I don’t know what to do with this _secret_ ,” Jon began, “You’re the smartest person I know. Tell me what to do.”

Standing up slowly, Sansa questioned, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I can keep this secret,” Jon said rising from the chair and moving closer to Sansa. “I’m not sure it’s right to. But Daenerys –.”

And it all made sense to Sansa. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

Jon is Rhaegar’s son, and he is by rights the heir to the Iron Throne. Not the Dragon Queen.

“Jon you are the heir to the seven kingdoms,” Sansa said, stating the obvious. “King in the North and in the South.”

Jon moved back slightly, raising his brows. He almost looked betrayed by her words.

“I want no part of that throne. I thought you’d know that,” he spat angrily.

Of course, Sansa knew this. But that was the only logical reason for revealing the truth.

“Then what is the point of telling the truth?” Sansa asked, puzzled. “I don’t know your queen very well, but I can tell she wouldn’t appreciate a rival. Not this far into the game.”

Sansa watched as the man in front of her bite his lip and turn away. There was only one other possible conclusion for Jon wanting to reveal the truth.

 “Do you wish to marry her?” Sansa asked coldly, narrowing her brows. “If you’re no longer a bastard then she would be free to marry you, if you wanted.”

His reply was quick and loud, “Gods, _no_ Sansa _._ ”

Her heart pounded at his reply, and a surge of relief fell over her. The disgust in his voice was clear and set Sansa’s mind _almost_ at ease.

Sansa’s eyebrows pushed together once more, “Then why? You don’t want the throne, you don’t wish to marry her –.”

His eyes snapped back to hers, filled with an emotion Sansa had only ever seen in passing and thought nothing of.

Longing. Desire. Perhaps even lust.

Her head felt dizzy and a heat was steadily rising inside of her. There was a tension in the air that was tight and heavy. This had happened before, but Sansa had simply brushed it off before.

She wondered if his heart was beating as hard as hers. Her hands twitched with a yearning to reach out and feel for herself. But again, she resisted the urge.

Her feelings were no longer forbidden, but that did not mean they were reciprocated.

Jon’s eyes flicked to her lips once more, and he took a bold step towards her, closing the space between them.

His mouth tightened, and Sansa could tell there was something he was holding back. Something he was afraid to say. She lowered her eyes to his lips for just a second. Just enough for him to notice.

_Could it be? Does he feel the same?_

“Sansa -,” Jon began reaching out for her, before a gentle knock on the door stopped him.

Sansa jumped at the knock on the door and took several steps away from Jon, as he let his hand slowly drop beside him.

“Come in,” Sansa half-yelled at the door.

The door slowly creaked open and Arya stepped inside her solar, eyes focusing on Jon.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she began, looking at their cousin. “Your queen is looking for you. You’d best be somewhere other than here when she finds you.”

Annoyance rose within Sansa, and she snapped, “Couldn’t you have told her he’s sleeping? Or that he’s simply busy?”

Arya shook her head, briefly looking at Sansa before turning back to Jon, “Tried that. She wouldn’t listen. Let’s go.”

“But we are in the middle of something,” Sansa replied with a curled lip.

The smaller girls’ eyes shot to hers as she gave a mischievous smile and answered, “Oh I’m sure you are, _my lady_.”

“Enough,” Jon barked, before moving towards the door. “I’ll go now.”

Arya nodded slightly, holding the door open as Jon hastily exited without so much as a look in Sansa’s direction.

“Jon!” Sansa yelled after him, almost taking a step out of the solar before Arya stopped her.

“He’ll be back,” she said with a smile. “Our _cousin_ can’t seem to stay away.”

Raising her eyebrows at her sister’s suggestion, Sansa questioned, “What are you talking about?”

“I think you know.”

*

JON

It was all too much for Jon.

Daenerys. Sansa. His parents.

It had all happened too quickly for him to properly grasp the severity of the situation.

And having Dany seek him out constantly did nothing to help him clear his head. He thought he was getting some clarity during his talk with Sansa. He swore he saw the woman’s eyes drop to his lips, if only for a small moment.

The realisation that his feelings for Sansa were not a taboo was perhaps the only reason Jon hadn’t gone completely mad.

He walked steadily towards his solar, wanting to get this next part over and done with. Jon was quite sure he wouldn’t tell Daenerys until after the Long Night. The North came first, and he could not afford for her to back out of this fight.

The silver haired queen was waiting for him next to the door of his solar. Upon his approach she was wide eyed and smiling. She looked like a woman in love.

This was something Jon was sorry for.

When executing his plan to secure the North’s safety, he hadn’t thought about the aftermath of falsifying his feelings and giving in to one small kiss.

But Sansa had told him to be smarter than Robb. Smarter than Eddard. So he had. Or tried to be.

“My lord,” Dany said curtly, bowing her head slightly. “I’ve been looking for you. You’re very good at hiding.”

Jon forced his mouth to form a small smile before replying, “I wasn’t hiding.”

He watched as she smiled and placed her hands in front of her. He felt awful. He felt like a traitor. And now that she was his _aunt_ , he felt even sicker. They really were Targaryens.

“Apologies for running off earlier, I take it you found your chambers easily?” he asked, refusing to open the door.

Dany nodded and said, “Yes, Gilly was very accommodating. I do wish it had of been you though.”

Letting out an awkward gargle, Jon smiled slightly and stuttered, “Aye, me too.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two, and Jon cursed himself for not knowing what to say to the woman. He didn’t want to push her agenda with him further, especially not now being back at Winterfell, but he couldn’t just turn her away.

“Can we go into your chambers?” Dany asked before adding with a frown, “I need to talk with you about your sister.”

Jon’s blood went cold at the word, and he felt his face drop the façade he was so desperately trying to put on for her.

“Which one?” Jon asked curiously. “Arya?”

Dany shook her head slowly and said, “I think you know which sister I’d like to speak to you about.”

Aye he did. But he was hoping he was wrong.

“Northerners don’t take to Southerners well. She is just being cautious,” Jon stated, trying to force a small smile. “Give her some time.”

The woman’s brows narrowed at this and replied harshly, “She doesn’t have to ‘take’ to me, Jon. She needs to respect me and my status. If she can’t - .”

Jon didn’t let her finish her sentence and cut her off with a raised voice, “If she can’t what? What will you do to her?”

Dany eyes went wide in surprise at the tone of Jon’s voice, and she snapped, “If she can’t I will give her the same ultimatum I gave those at the Reach.”

His ears felt like they were bleeding, and Jon saw red.

“You can’t just come into someone’s home and start threatening them because they don’t immediately bow down to you,” Jon yelled, face burning and hands shaking.

Dany’s face was also flushed with blood, but out of embarrassment not anger.

She reached out for Jon and replied, “I thought perhaps you’d agree she was being difficult.”

Jon stepped further away from her, rejecting her touch, “I’d like to go to bed, Dany. Alone.”

The woman bit her lip and bowed her head in acceptance. Jon watched as she turned on her heel and walked away slowly.

Opening his door, Jon felt his blood rising again and called out, “Daenerys!”

Dany’s long silver locks flicked behind her as she stopped and smiled, “Yes?”

Narrowing his eyes, Jon spat, “Do not ever threaten Sansa again. Or you won’t like the ultimatum I give you.”

He watched as she pursed her lips and made her hands into fists before slamming his door behind him.

*

Jon had barely opened his eyes when Sam came flying into his chambers.

“Jon!” he screamed. “Jon you need to get up!”

Remembering the confrontation with Daenerys last night, Jon sat up immediately. Blood rushing to his head, and his stomach turning.

“Is it Sansa?!” he yelled. “Is it Daenerys?!”

Sam scrunched his brows and replied, “No, it’s the Kingslayer. Jaime Lannister.”

With that, knowing the history with the man, Sansa _and_ Daenerys, Jon threw on some clothes as fast as he could.

Things were about to get very ugly, very fast, unless there was some sort of order.

As Jon entered the hall, he saw Daenerys sitting in the middle of the table, eyes glaring straight ahead at the man in front of her.

Jon sat to her left and made no effort to greet her. The words of last night still rung loudly in Jon’s ears and threatening his family was not something he would be taking lightly.

He heard heavy footsteps approaching the hall and turned to see that it was Sansa, flanked by Brienne and Bran. Sansa looked at him only once, and only for a second before training her eyes on Jaime.

Clearing his throat, Jon began the discussion, “Why are you here? What business do you have in the North?”

Jaime looked at Jon before answering, “My sister’s army is not coming North. Although I’m sure most of you already guessed that.”

Jon could feel Sansa’s smugness from across the table and he watched as Tyrion shrunk into his chair.

“So why did you?” Jon asked again. “Everyone knows where your loyalties lie.”

He watched as Jaime flicked his head to look at Brienne before answering, “Perhaps I reconsidered my loyalties.”

Jon opened his mouth to question him further but was cut off by the woman to his right.

“When I was a little girl, my brother told me about the man who killed our father,” Daenerys spat, venom dripping from each word. “About his golden hair and golden suit.”

The room remained silent, and Jaime placed his arms in front of him. Jon noticed that his body language was not angry, or annoyed. Almost like he expected this reception and came here anyways.

“When he told me about _that_ man, I used to imagine all of the things we would do to him when we had him in our grasp. Firstly, I imagined my brother casting him down. Then my husband. After that, my own dragon,” Daenerys continued, a sharpness to her voice that Jon had never quite heard before. “And now here you are. One man. With one hand.”  
Jaime took the blows one after one, accepting Daenerys’ anger, it was only after a long pause that he spoke.  
“Your Grace, I have made a large number of mistakes in my life,” Jaime started. “But killing your father was _not_ one of them.”  
Jon resisted the urge to throw something at the man. Whilst he agreed with Jaime, he couldn’t understand why he would choose to say that now, with two fully grown dragons outside.

“I’m sorry?” Daenerys questioned, eyes narrowing.

“He was about to kill thousands of innocent people. He had gone completely mad,” he continued. “And if you truly aren’t like your father, you would understand why I did it.”

It was clear to everyone in that room however, that Daenerys did not understand and did not agree with the blonde man in front of her.

“If I may,” Tyrion began. “Your Grace, my brother abandoned Cersei to fight for the North. He knew it would be dangerous, he knew he may even be executed upon arrival. But still he came. Does that not say something?”

The queen shot Tyrion a dark glare and replied, “Perhaps he knew his brother would fight on his behalf, until the moment he slits my throat.”

After this, Brienne stepped up and walked into the centre of the room. Her head held high.

“Your Grace, if it weren’t for Jaime Lannister, I would not be alive,” she started, staring into Dany’s eyes before looking to address Sansa directly. “My lady, without him you would not be alive today.”

Sansa stared at Brienne for a moment before asking, “You vouch for him?”

“I do,” Brienne replied, her body covering Jaime’s like a human shield.

“You would fight beside him?” she questioned further.

“I would.”

Jon looked over Daenerys to see Sansa. Her head was down, eyebrows kneaded together, and Jon knew she was calculating the risk of letting him stay.

“I trust you with my life,” Sansa stated, looking Brienne deeply in her eyes. “If you trust him with yours, I think he should stay.”

Daenerys’ turned her head to glare at Sansa and a heavy breath knocked out of Jon, for he knew what situation he was about to be placed in.

“And what does the Warden of the North have to say about this?” Dany asked, looking at Jon like he was daring him to question her.

However, it was an easy decision for Jon to make.

Jon resisted the urge to look at Sansa, staring at the man in front of him, “I stand with the Lady of Winterfell. We need every man we can get.”

A resounding silence came after Jon’s words. No one quite sure of how the queen would react to her warden defying her.

After a few short moments Sansa rose and walked swiftly out of the room, not waiting for Daenerys or Jon. The queen looked at Jon, confusion and anger laced in her eyes. But Jon simply stood and followed the auburn-haired woman’s lead.

He followed her to her solar, trailing a few steps behind to give her some space. As she opened the door and stepped in, she looked back and locked eyes with Jon.

“Did you need something, Jon?” Sansa asked, with a slight curl of her lip.

“Can we talk for a moment?”

Sansa pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyebrows in response, “I thought we had talked. And you ran out.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jon crossed the distance until they were face to face. Sansa opened the door for him, and he stepped into her solar, shutting the door softly behind him.

“Aye, I ran out. Would you have preferred Daenerys to find me in your solar rather than my own?” Jon asked once they were settled inside, the heat in his body rising from just speaking to the woman.

“Why would you being in my solar be an issue?” Sansa questioned, raising her brows and taking a seat at the table. “We are _siblings_ to her, aren’t we?”

Taking a small step back, Jon’s stomach flipped at Sansa’s words. There shouldn’t be a problem with him being in her solar. Daenerys ideally shouldn’t have any issue with it. But Jon was a terrible liar, and if his constant staring at Sansa wasn’t already a dead give a way of his true feelings, surely seeing him taking comfort in her solar would be enough for Daenerys to realise.

“You already aren’t getting along with her, I don’t want her to think I’m taking sides,” Jon replied diplomatically, sitting opposite Sansa.

Placing her hands on the table, Sansa smiled slyly at his words, “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Sansa, please,” Jon pleaded, instinctively reaching out to grab one of her hands. “I’m just trying to win this war.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and Jon watched as she stared at his hand in hers. He almost took his hand back, thinking she may be uncomfortable. But Sansa didn’t move away, instead her thumb moved to gently caress his palm.

All it took was this one small caress and Jon’s entire body lit up in flames. 

Taking a chance, Jon entwined his fingers with hers and kept his eyes trained on her face. She was so fucking beautiful. Even when she was confused or angry or frightened, Sansa remained beautiful. Before, Jon would often push the thoughts of her being even remotely attractive out of his mind. If he didn't, he felt disgusting. Shameful. But now, everything was different and it didn't feel so wrong anymore. 

There was a war knocking at his front door, but all Jon Snow could think about was how fucking beautiful Sansa Stark was.

“Jon?” Sansa said, pulling her hand abruptly out of his and snapping Jon out of his thoughts. “I need to ask you something.”

Jon nodded, urging her to continue. He kept his eyes on her face still, watching as her features turned sour and her eyes ran cold.

“Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?” Sansa asked bitterly, staring Jon down.

“Do you not have any faith in me at all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> until next time, jonsa fam, leave a comment if you enjoyed this chap!!! comments mean so much and motivate me to write asap!!!!


	3. a moment of weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sansa gets drunk and ghost growls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: BRIEF MENTION OF PAST ABUSE (INCL. RAPE). Not in detail but a mention. 
> 
> third chapter here we go!!!! if you enjoy leave a comment, a kudos, anything!

SANSA

 

_“Do you not have any faith in me at all?”_

Sansa remembered the glint in Jon’s eyes as he asked her the question. It was as if he was begging her to believe in him.

_“You know I do.”_

And she meant it then. Sansa had faith in Jon and prayed to the old gods and the new that she was right to.

Sitting here at the edge of her seat, right next to _them_ , tested her faith, however. Daenerys had been smiling this wide teethy smile all night and Sansa thought surely her cheeks were hurting by this point. Seemingly, the woman’s anger at Jon from the previous day had disappeared and she was back to feeling Jon up. And looking at them now, Sansa’s blood boiled as the other woman playfully smiled and touched at Jon’s arm.

Swallowing another large sip of her ale, Sansa tried to focus on other things. Like the arrival of the redheaded man that Jon thought had fallen with the Wall. It had been amusing to watch; the way Tormund ran into Winterfell, screeched an inaudible sound and barged Jon over in greeting. Sansa enjoyed his humour, crude as it is. Although she was sure Brienne could think of nothing worse.

With Jaime and Tormund lining up for her, Sansa had never seen Brienne blush so much.

Tormund had arrived with a number of familiar faces, including Edd and The Hound. Whom Sansa had been keeping her distance from. She wasn’t quite sure how to react to someone who’d been with her in Kings Landing. Someone who’d seen the abuse she was suffered through each day.

Sansa sought the man out now, wanting desperately to get away from the table. From the _couple_ beside her.

He was sitting close by, with Pod lingering near him with two Northern girls. She watched as one of them tried to make her move on The Hound, resting her arm on his body, eyebrows raised in suggestion. However, he immediately growled at the girl and she jumped back so quickly, Sansa thought she may have pulled a muscle.

Grabbing her cup, Sansa walked tentatively over to the man she once knew and sat opposite him.

“She could’ve made you happy,” she said with a small smile. “At least for a little while.”

The Hound looked up at her, eyebrows raised slightly. Sansa assumed he was surprised she’d actually come to speak to him, considering the distance she’d put between them.

“Little bird,” he greeted bowing his head. “Thought you might be still afraid of me.”

Sansa smirked and drank from her cup before replying sombrely, “There are far scarier things in this world than you.”

The Hound sat back and looked at Sansa in the eyes, “I heard about some of those scary things. Heard you were broken in. Rough.”

A shiver ran through Sansa’s body, and her mind flashed with dark memories of Ramsay’s abuse. It was not something she discussed often, or something anyone usually mentioned in front of her. She tried to forget the memories; the abuse, the rape. But they were always there. Lingering.

She wasn’t sure she would ever be entirely free of the nightmares. The thought of him still made her ill.

Flicking her head to Jon, trying to ease her mind and seeing Jon usually being a sure way to do so. Sansa’s heart burned as his attentions were still with the Dragon Queen.

Looking back at The Hound, Sansa cleared her throat and stated, “I gave him what he deserved.”

“How?” he asked slyly.

“Hounds.”

He laughed at this. At the irony. Although Sansa could not. It _had_ felt good watching him die. She did not deny that. But it did _not_ take away her pain. Or her suffering.

“You’ve changed little bird,” he continued, a slight smile. “None of it would have happened if you’d come with me. No Littlefinger. No Cersei. No Ramsay. I would have protected you. Just like I did Arya.”

Sansa nodded her head and smiled, imagining the three of them on the road together. The Princess, The Assassin and The Hound. It truly would have been a sight. Perhaps Sansa would have been happy. Protected. Innocent. Maybe The Hound would have been a father to her like he had been to Arya.

“I would take it back if I had the chance,” Sansa replied, reaching over to grab his hand softly. “I wish I could go back in time and go with you.”

“Aye, but then you wouldn’t be the bird you are now,” The Hound answered, scrunching his eyebrows together.

“And what makes you think that?” Sansa continued, removing her hand and slightly curling her lip.

The Hound opened his mouth and paused for a few seconds before adding, “They made you who you are. A strong woman.”

Disgusted at his words, Sansa replied angrily, “They didn’t make me strong, I was already strong. I am the woman I am because of my _own_ strength. My _own_ perseverance. Not because I was abused and tortured. Not because of Ramsay and the rest.”

The Hound stared at her in awe and there was a heavy silence that fell over them. Sansa’s stomach was twisting and head burning. Is this what everyone that? That she was strong because of her abusers?

“I’m sorry,” The Hound said softly. “I just meant -.”

“I know what you meant,” Sansa snapped. “It was nice talking with you.”

Standing up slowly, Sansa turned her head to her table. Jon was alone now; Sansa saw him sit down by himself and scan the crowd for her. Their eyes meet for a brief second before being pulled by her arm.

Initial shock ran through her body before she realised it was her former husband and his brother.

“My lady, come join us for a drinking game?” Tyrion asked, slightly slurring his words. “Before the Long Night comes and we all die, I’d like to see you drunk.”

Sansa eyed Jaime carefully before replying, “I can’t. I have responsibilities.”

Tyrion visibly rolled his eyes and answered, “Responsibilities you can remember in the morning. Have a bit of fun, Sansa. You deserve it.”

Weighing up her options and resisting the urge to look back at her table, Sansa finally nodded slyly.

“What game?” she asked.

“It’s quite simple really, I say a fact about you and if I’m wrong, I drink, but if I’m right, you drink.”

*

JON

 

“I know you hate the Lannister’s and all, Snow, but I think you might be more like them then you thought,” Tormund whispered in his ear, tearing Jon’s eyes away from the table across from them where Sansa was giggling with a drink in her hand.

“What?!” Jon asked, raising his brows and looking to see if Daenerys was listening. However, the silver haired woman was busy animatedly chatting with Missandei.

Tormund gave him a big grin and replied, “No judgement here. Do what you want in your own home and all. Can’t say I’d blame you.”

“Tormund! What are you talking about?” Jon repeated, shocked at how brazenly Tormund had called him out.

“All bloody night long I’ve seen you either looking for or staring at your sister. You’re going to have to be more discreet, friend.”

Bile was rising in Jon’s throat; he had been trying to be discreet. He had deliberately begun a conversation with Daenerys to divert attention. He couldn’t help it if he was concerned about Sansa’s wellbeing after she removed herself abruptly from the table and went to sit with Sandor.

“Aye, I was just making sure she was alright,” Jon said. “There are a lot of new faces around.”

Tormund’s eyebrows raised and he replied, “Well what about me? I’m a new face surrounded by new faces. You certainly haven’t been looking at my ugly mug.”

“Your ugly mug can handle itself,” Jon snapped with a smile.

His smile faltered however when a loud, “Lady Sansa!” came from the table across from them.

Jon moved his head so quickly he swore he could feel some of his bones cracking. She wasn’t in any danger, but Brienne was bowing her head in laughter at something Sansa had said. It wasn’t until he really observed her that Jon realised Sansa was … _drunk_.

Her eyes were bright and glazed, and her movements was slurred.

Jon almost smiled until he watched he stumble off her chair, landing on the ground. Sansa laughed it off, but Jon did not. He was there within seconds, her eyes snapping up to met his and hand reaching out for him.

His was extended ready to help her, when Jaime Lannister stepped in front of him and pulled Sansa to her feet.

“Perhaps you’ve had a bit much my lady,” Jaime said, steadying Sansa on her feet. “You never realise until you’ve fallen.”

A strange feeling of annoyance ran through Jon at Jaime’s kind gesture. It was stupid really, anyone with eyes can see the man was into Brienne, but the feeling still persisted.

Her eyes flicking to Jon, Sansa replied, “Thank you, Ser Jaime. I think I will take my leave now.”

Without so much of a look back to Jon, Sansa turned on her heel and began walking slowly out of the hall. Turning his head back to the table, he noticed that Daenerys was gone, and Tormund was holding his glass up at him. Shaking his head, Jon followed Sansa out of the hall. He could feel eyes on him but hoped they would think he was just being _brotherly_. 

Sansa was leaning against a wall when Jon caught up with her.

Lifting her up into his arms and carrying her like a babe, Jon said with a smile, “Not like you to get drunk.”

“Needed a distraction from you and the Dragon Queen,” Sansa replied angrily, before closing her eyes. “It was nauseating.”

Jon carried her the rest of the distance in silence, not wanting to anger her any further. When they arrived at her solar, Jon carefully placed Sansa on her bed. Running his finger down her face, allowing himself this one touch and hoping she wouldn’t remember. However, Sansa’s eyes widened at the touch, her hand catching his.

Jon’s body heated at the touch, his blood rushing to his face and to … other places. He tried to pull away his hand, but she kept it on her face. He wondered if she craved his touch as much as he did hers.

“Jon,” Sansa whispered, squeezing his hand. “Don’t go.”

Jon wanted to stay. Perhaps more than he’d ever wanted anything, he wanted to stay. He wanted Sansa. To be with her. Inside of her. However, he could smell the ale on her breath, and he knew it wasn’t right. Not like this.

“You’re drunk,” Jon replied, pulling his hand away. “I should leave.”

But her hand reached up again, and she sat up, face to face with Jon.

“Is it because of _her_ ,” Sansa asked breathlessly, tears brimming. “Do you want her and not me?”

Jon shook his head desperately and said, “No, of course not.”

“So, you want me then?” she whispered, placing a hand on Jon’s thigh.

He offered her no response. He couldn’t lie to her. But he also couldn’t admit his truth.

However, his silence was deafening, and he swore he’d lost his mind when he heard her whisper, “I want you too.”

Her tender words frightened Jon, and he knew she wouldn’t mean it in the morning. But he couldn’t help so badly wanting to believe them.

“Sansa, please,” Jon said softly, turning his head away from her. “I need to go.”

The world seemed to stand still as Sansa grabbed his face and turned it back to her. As Sansa leaned in slowly, eyes closed and lips puckered slightly, Jon wanted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn’t all a dream. Holding his breath, he felt her lips tenderly swipe over his and press a small, feather light kiss to his lips.

Returning the kiss gingerly, and still not entirely sure that this wasn’t a dream, Jon placed a hand on her back pulling her closer. Sansa deepened the kiss, pressing her lips more eagerly against Jon’s. He followed her lead, and when she flicked her tongue over the entrance of his mouth, he allowed it.

Jon continued to pull Sansa closer to his body, his lips becoming numb against hers with the pressure. One of her hands cupped his face as the other wrapped around his waist. They were lost in the kiss, in each other, and Jon never wanted to move from this spot. The Night King be damned. Winterfell could burn for all he cared right now.

Moving his lips from hers to the nape of her neck, Jon lay kisses across her skin, nipping gently. She slightly moaned at this, hand squeezing his waist, the sound intoxicating to Jon.  He wanted to keep going, but Sansa pushed Jon back to her lips, heightening the kiss and pressing her tongue more brazenly into his mouth. She pulled Jon on top of her, reaching for his shirt and lifting her hips to touch his. He revelled in the feeling of her hips against his, of him in between her. She bucked up to create friction, and this small movement was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown against his face. Suddenly, Jon was all too aware of what was happening, and he jumped away from Sansa. His heart beating fast and mind still not quite catching up to reality, Jon leaned against the wall opposite Sansa’s bed.

_What the fuck just happened?_

Looking back at Sansa, the girl was sat up straight, biting her red lips and staring at the ground. Her hair was dishevelled and dress slightly ajar. Reminders of what had just happened. Jon ran his hand through his hair, not entirely sure what to say or how to say it. He was throbbing everywhere, his body aching because of the loss of touch.

A swell of shame crept over him as he cursed himself out.

_Sansa is drunk and you have just taken advantage of her._

“Sansa, I’m sorry,” Jon whispered.

She opened her mouth to respond, but a heavy knock on the door stopped her in her tracks. Brienne walked in and looked at the pair of them oddly. Jon turned away from the woman, unsure of whether she would be able to see the outline in his pants or the redness around his lips.

“Lady Sansa, are you feeling better?” Brienne asked from behind Jon, before adding. “I’ll watch over your _sister_ now, Lord Snow. You can take your leave.”

Turning back around, Jon gave Brienne a small nod before exiting the room without another glance at Sansa.

_What the fuck just happened?_

*

 

SANSA

 

Her head hurts.

It is all she can think about when she wakes up. The throbbing at her temples and the taste of ale at the back of her throat.

She doesn’t even remember what had transpired the night before until she was brushing her hair in the mirror and saw the love bites across her neck. Dropping her hairbrush and letting it smash to the ground, Sansa begun to trace her skin, following the small marks. And the memories of the night before came rushing back to her.

She remembered kissing Jon. Remembered letting him kiss her back. Remembered the feeling of Jon’s cock between her hips. 

Shame and regret rushed through her, filling her mind. She'd been so wanton, so brazen. But Jon hadn't seem to mind, not until a good half hour later. 

Picking up her hairbrush, Sansa got herself presentable slowly, hoping she would miss Jon at breakfast. She wasn’t ready to face him, not in front of the North or in front of Daenerys. Not yet.

She picked out a dress that covered most of the marks on her skin, with one tiny bite peeking out. Sansa's stomach lurched at the reminder and she carefully draped her hair over the mark. 

It wasn’t as if she regretted what had happened, in fact it was something she’d ached for _long_ before she should have. But she regretted that she was drunk, and that she didn’t quite know for sure how Jon felt.

She remembered how he’d jumped off her and ran a panicked hand through his hair, and his soft apology. He clearly just got lost in the moment. It was simply a moment of weakness.

Sansa was sure he would rather they never mention it or speak of it again.

As she walked into the hall, Sansa thought she may faint from the sight of him. His face was red and he looked rather ill. He was picking at his food, while Arya picked his brain about something. The only other space at the table was next to him, as Bran left a deliberate space for Sansa next to him. However, Daenerys was thankfully absent, most likely choosing to spend the morning with her dragons.

“Morning, my lady,” greeted a Northerner eating near the table, stopping her in her tracks and bringing Jon's attention to her. She ignored the burn of his gaze on her and nodded back at the man, before making her way to her seat.

Pulling the chair out, Sansa slowly lowered herself and greeted the table, “Good morning.”

Jon remained silent, his grip on his knife and fork tightening so harsh Sansa could see his knuckles going white.

"Sansa," Jon replied, bowing his head.

“What’s going on?” Arya asked, dropping her knife and fork. “Have you two been fighting again?”  
Sansa shook her head, all the colour draining from her face and said, “No, why?”

Arya raised her eyebrows, “Your face is about as white as Jon’s knuckles and you both look like you’re about to explode.”

“Everything is _fine_ ,” Jon replied, looking at Arya but his words seemingly pointed at Sansa. “Sansa and I had a disagreement is all.”

_A disagreement?_ Sansa thought. _Last night seemed to be the only thing we’ve agreed on since you arrived back in Winterfell._

Bran snickered a little next to her and Sansa’s blood went cold.

Turning her head to glare at her brother, Sansa asked, “What’s funny?”

He looked at her square in the eye and said, “You and Jon having a disagreement? I never would have thought.”

Arya laughed at this, “Bran, I didn’t think you could still make jokes.”

But Jon and Sansa were not laughing. Their eyes met for the first time that morning, and Sansa could tell he was terrified of Bran seeing what had happened. If he saw, who knows what he might blurt out. He wasn't very good at keeping secrets nowadays. 

His eyes left hers for just a second and travelled to her neck. His face went bright red, and Sansa quickly patted down the piece of hair that covered the mark.

The rest of the breakfast was spent in silence, her siblings quickly realising that their ‘fight’ was still unresolved. She just prayed Bran didn’t look to see what had caused such a disparity.

As soon as Sansa had finished her meal, she got up so quickly her head rushed.

“I'll see you all later, find me if anything happens,” Sansa announced, before half running away from the table.

She’d expected Jon to be regretful of their actions, but now that it was all but confirmed, Sansa could hardly bear it. There was a small part of her that thought perhaps Jon may have wanted her too. 

Heading to the library, all Sansa wanted was some sort of peace and quiet. Her head was still throbbing and the weight of her actions last night made her even more ill.

She didn’t even realise Ghost was trailing her until he was walking right next to her, his paws hitting the ground with a clink. Sansa smiled and allowed him to follow her. His company was exempt, mostly because he didn't talk.

Upon entering the library, she streamlined for the parchment and quill. She didn’t just come to the library for peace, Sansa had responsibilities she could not ignore. She needed to write to the people in Wintertown, to inform them of the women and children that would be arriving in the next day.

Ghost lay at her feet, sleeping soundly as she wrote the letters, only waking a half hour later when the library door opened slowly.

_Please don’t be Jon,_ Sansa prayed as she moved her head to see who the visitor was.

The first thing she saw was silver hair swaying in the air. Her stomach falling and lip curling. Sansa tried to force a polite smile and touched her hair to ensure it had not moved. The last thing she needed was Daenerys asking about love bites and where Sansa could have possibly gotten them from.

As Daenerys walked towards Sansa, she heard Ghost growl slightly and quietly shushed him before turning back to the Dragon Queen.

“Your Grace,” Sansa greeted, rising from her chair. “What brings you here?”

Daenerys smiled and answered, “I was told by Brienne you may be here. I wanted to talk to you. Woman to woman.”

Nodding her head and gesturing to the chair opposite her, Sansa braced herself for the onslaught. And prepared herself to mask her true emotions. She feared she was no longer as good at hiding them as she once was.

“What about?”

“Your brother,” Daenerys replied, lowering herself onto the chair.

_Please anything but._

Sansa smiled and asked, “What about Jon?”

“I understand that the two of you are _close_ ,” Daenerys started with a raised brow, placing her hands in front of her. “So, I understand how me being here, with him, has startled you.”

Sansa’s smile fell, and she wondered if Daenerys really believed that Sansa was only angered at her being here because of Jon.

“With him? I wasn’t under the impression you two were _together_ , Your Grace,” Sansa said, snarkily. “I thought you were here to defend Westeros from the dead?”

Daenerys sat back in her chair and smiled, “I came to Winterfell to save this country. But I also came for your brother. Because I love him.”

_Because I love him_. 

“And I believe he loves me.”

The words hit Sansa hard, although she knew this love was not reciprocated it did not ease the burn of her heart. Sansa felt her façade dropping fast. Struggling to keep herself together, Sansa reached down to pat Ghost on the head.

“Truly?” Sansa asked, trying to keep the bitter taste out of her mouth. “Has he said so?”

“Women can tell these things,” Daenerys answered, nodding her head and beaming at Sansa. “I’m sure you’ve known when people are in love with you.”

Keeping the memory of Littlefinger out of her mind, Sansa remained silent. Staring deeply into the Dragon Queen’s eyes, she was determined to keep a straight face. Determined to be a lady.

“What does this all have to do with me, Your Grace?” Sansa asked. “Frankly, what you and _my brother_ do in your spare time has nothing to do with me.”

Daenerys shook her head and replied, “No it doesn’t. I came here today to make peace. For Jon’s sake. To put aside our troubles and focus on what’s truly important.”

“I agree, Your Grace,” Sansa said slowly. “However, it is hard to focus with two dragons at my doorstep and a queen who wants to take my home from me.”

“I do not wish to take anything away from you, Lady Stark,” Daenerys replied, dumbfounded. “I came to help defeat the dead, and to take back what is rightfully mine.”

Sansa snickered and said, “Yes and what is _rightfully_ yours?”

“Westeros. The Iron Throne. The seven kingdoms. It is my birthright.”

“What about the North,” Sansa spat. “Jon and I took back the North. And we swore to our people that they would never bend to anyone who isn’t a Stark again. _What about the North?_ ”

Daenerys’ mouth opened and eyes widened, clearly startled by Sansa’s words. Her hands dropped from the table and she stood up, towering over Sansa.

“The North is one of those seven kingdoms.”  
Sansa stood slowly, now towering over the silver haired woman, “But the North is not yours to rule. It is ours. My family’s.”

They stood there in silence for a long moment, staring daggers into each other’s eyes. Sansa was not about to be manipulated and forced to retreat. Not again. She would stand by the North, no matter the cost.

“Lady Stark, I can’t have you threatening my rule, or my rights to the North as Queen of the seven kingdoms,” Daenerys stated, venom dripping from her lips. “I pray that once the Long Night is over you reconsider your position.”

“Or what,” Sansa spat.

“Or you won’t like the consequences.”  
Sansa faltered slightly, shocked at the open threat. However, she didn’t have time to respond before Ghost jumped between her and the Dragon Queen. His mouth curled and he snarled loudly at Daenerys, who stepped back in fright.

“Ghost,” Sansa said, her eyes never leaving Daenerys’. 

Ghost's protective nature over Sansa did not falter, and his mouth remained open at the other woman. Daenerys was foolish to think she could come into Sansa's home, threaten her in front of her family and get away with it. If Ghost was any indicator of the love Sansa had in the North, the Dragon Queen should be scared. 

Daenerys covered her fear well, and replied simply, “Consider what I said, Lady Stark," before making her way out of the library. 

However, Sansa didn’t need to consider anything - she would burn before she bent.


	4. a stray kraken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an adventure in the crypts and a new arrival shake jon and sansa to their core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lets get this show on the road !!

JON

 

“Jon, are you even listening to me?” Arya asked.

Snapping his eyes back up to Arya’s, Jon smiled sheepishly and said, “Aye, sorry.”

But Jon’s mind had been elsewhere all morning since watching Sansa walk out of breakfast so abruptly. All he wanted to do was speak to her, but she’d shut down. Her walls shooting back up. Whether this was out of regret or embarrassment, Jon didn’t know.

He was determined to go about his day without trying to seek her out. Sansa would find him when she was ready. The distance also meant Jon had more time to think about his next course of action.

He could apologise for last night and swear never to speak of it again.

Or he could not apologise and reveal his true feelings.  

It didn’t help that Arya had been down his neck all morning. Constantly riddling him with questions about Sansa and Daenerys.

“What did you and Sansa fight about? Was it about Daenerys? Do you like Daenerys?” The questions went on and on. Jon even brought her to the Godswood to polish their swords, but still, Arya persisted.

“So do you think Sansa -.”

That was it for Jon.

Turning to Arya sharply, he spat, “Arya stop asking me about Sansa and Daenerys or I’ll start asking you about Gendry.”

Her mouth fell slightly ajar and her hand stopped in the middle of Needle. Clearly the infamous ‘no one’ was not expecting Jon to be so upfront.

“What do you know about Gendry?” Arya asked, eyes narrowing, and face flushed.

Jon raised his brows and met Arya’s sharp gaze before answering, “All I know is that whenever anyone mentioned your name in the True North, he turned red as a beet.”

Arya tried to pull back her emotions and appear indifferent, but Jon knew her. She had all the Facelessman training Braavos could offer, but Jon still knew his sister. 

“Do you fancy him?” Jon asked after a short silence, keeping his eyes trained on Longclaw.

“Do you fancy Sansa?” Arya retorted without missing a beat.

Jon’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, and his stomach dropped to the ground.

“What in the hells makes you think that?” Jon asked, feigning innocence. “She’s my sister.”

 _Sister._ The word just didn’t seem right. Sansa was most definitely _not_ his sister.

But all he got was an eyeroll and a quick, “No, she’s not. And you aren’t exactly subtle.”

Jon remained silent. He knew he should deny it, shut it down immediately. But Arya could always tell if people were lying. She’d see right through him even if he did.  

“I was there last night, lurking in the shadows, and I saw you with her,” Arya continued, eyes moving back to Needle. “I saw how you looked at her.”

“Aye and how did I _look_ at her?” Jon questioned.

Arya snickered slightly and said, “Well you’ve never looked at me like that. And thank the gods for it.”

Jon was lost for words. He thought he’d been more careful. But when two people in the space of a day comment on the same thing, clearly Jon need a lesson or two in subtly.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he finally mustered out, putting Longclaw down and leaning against the Heart Tree.

He didn’t want to lie to her, and to be frank, having someone to confide in about the feelings he’d suppressed for so long would be nice.

Arya put Needle away and treaded towards Jon, sitting next to him and replying, “I don’t need you to say anything. Anyone with eyes can see the truth.”

Jon side eyed her and whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”

“How does she feel?” Arya asked gently. “Have you even spoken about it with her?”

Shaking his head, Jon said slyly, “Not in as many words.”

Arya raised her brows and pursed her lips, wanting Jon to continue.

“She kissed me last night, and I kissed her back,” Jon admitted, before adding, “But she was drunk.”

He gave Arya time to process the revelation, and he knew how foreign it must feel to her. Jon wondered how disgusting she found them.

“So … you’re the one who gave Sansa that nasty bruise on her neck.”

“Arya!”

She chuckled slightly before adding, “But she kissed you? That’s not like Sansa.”

Jon pushed his brows together, puzzled and repeated, “She was drunk.”

“I got drunk last night, but you didn’t see me trying it on Bran,” Arya stated matter-of-factly. “Maybe she did it because she couldn’t without the drink.”  
Biting his lip at her words, Jon thought perhaps she was right. Perhaps Sansa did feel the same. Last night had definitely not felt one-sided.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Arya stated. “I can talk to her if you want.”

“Gods Arya I’m not ten and fancying a Wintertown girl,” Jon snapped with a small smile. “You stay well out of it.”

Arya winked at him and said, “Speak to her.”

Nodding solemnly, Jon didn’t want to bother Sansa, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he did. His stomach was fluttering, and nerves ran through his veins at the thought. It could potentially ruin their relationship, more so than it might already be. But it had to be done.

Trying to distract himself, he looked back over at Arya and asked tenderly, “Gendry, aye? I always thought you’d go for someone taller.”

“Oh, shut it,” Arya said, pushing Jon slightly.

*

The hours passed agonisingly slowly, and Jon had almost lost his mind by the time night fell. He had been caught up in Arya’s love life, and in news of the Night King’s army. His world had been consumed by Sansa for the last day, and Jon had barely even thought about the dead. But now it was all coming to a head.

There was just not enough time. Gendry hadn’t made enough of the weapons, the trenches were not ready and the women and children hadn’t entirely been evacuated to Wintertown. Sansa had made sure most of them got out safely, but some still remained to cook and feed the rest of Winterfell.

There was simply too much to do and not enough time.

His issues with Sansa seemed trivial compared to what was awaiting the North.

With the Night King, Daenerys, Sansa and the whole weight of the North on his shoulders.  Jon was completely overwhelmed and exhausted.

His body ached and head hurt with the million things running through it.

Heading to the crypts, Jon prayed for just a moments reprieve.

“Jon!” came a voice from behind him, shattering his thoughts about getting just a second to himself.

Turning around, he saw Davos trotting towards him, smile across his face.

“I need to speak with you about something,” he announced.

“Aye? What is it?” Jon said, trying to force a polite smile for his friend.

Davos stopped in front of Jon and said, “Tyrion and I were thinking about you and Daenerys.”

Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes, “Aye and what about Daenerys and me?”

“Well, what if you married her?” Davos suggested boldly.

Jon’s face went hot and all he could do is scoff slightly.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, curiously. “When the Night King comes it won’t matter who’s married and who’s not.”

Davos’ face fell slightly, and he continued, “It would be a good way to secure an alliance. Between the North and the South.”

Looking away from the man, Jon replied, “I bent the knee. We have our alliance. I don’t see why I’d need to marry her.”

An awkward tension fell over the men, and Jon felt slightly bad for being callous. But in truth he couldn’t think of anything worse than marrying Daenerys. He’d tricked her enough. She didn’t need more false hope.

“It would be good to have a Northerner sharing the throne,” Davos persisted. “And I see the way she looks at you.”

Everyone saw. Jon wished she’d stop looking at him for once. 

“I don’t want the throne,” Jon replied sharply.

Davos eyes went wide, and Jon could see his mind ticking, trying to find a way to convince him.

“Aye, just think about it. Think about what it could do for the North and for your family.”

He couldn’t imagine Arya’s reaction, let alone Sansa’s. He’d be eaten alive by the two of them before Daenerys could pick a gown.

However, trying to appease Davos, who would surely go back to inform Tyrion about his answer, Jon simply nodded his head, “When the Long Night is over, if we’re all alive, I’ll think about marriage.”

But he didn’t say to whom he would think about marrying.

*

SANSA

 

She’d be lying if she said the confrontation with Daenerys hadn’t shaken her up.

_“I pray that once the Long Night is over you reconsider your position.”_

_“Or what?”_

Shivering at the memory, Sansa focused on making her way to the crypts. She’d spent the remainder of the day with her soldiers and the people of the North. Ensuring their safety precautions and food rations. Busying herself with Lady life, and trying not to think about Daenerys or … Jon.

But as always, her thoughts led back to the dark haired, broody man. She’d seen him at the Godswood with Arya, but kept her distance, wanting to gather her thoughts before confronting him.

Sansa couldn’t bear the silence anymore, however. Especially with what had happened with Daenerys. Whether he returned her feelings or not, she needed Jon to be on her side. Her life may depend on it.

She’d seen Davos and Jon talking and watched as he walked into the crypts.

The crypts were silent and cooler than usual, the door was still slightly ajar. Grabbing a lit torch from the side of the wall, Sansa carefully walked through the halls.

He was staring at his mother when she found him. His eyes fixated on her. And Sansa realised she hadn’t ever truly looked at Lyanna Stark’s tomb.

Her father didn’t speak of Lyanna often, and as children it felt disrespectful to look at Lyanna’s tomb for too long.

“I can see it you know,” she said, keeping her eyes on Jon and moving slowly towards him, placing the torch in the slot next to Lyanna. “You look like her.”

“Aye,” Jon grumbled, taking his eyes off the tomb and meeting Sansa’s gaze. “I’d always thought it was from Ned.”

 _Ned._ Sansa was taken aback by the word. Ned Stark was still his father. Blood or no blood.

No matter how uncomfortable it may be for them.

“Will you forgive me?” Sansa asked softly, placing her hands in front of her torso. “For last night.”

He smiled slightly and waited only a moment before replying, “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Sansa gave him a small smile and tucked a piece of her behind her ear. Jon watched the action and reached out to touch her neck briefly. He began tracing the love bite Sansa knew was visible. Jon softly lifted from her neck to cup her cheek and Sansa lent in to the touch.

Her mind fluttered back to the previous night at the feel of his touch.

All she could think about was doing it again.

“I need to tell you something,” Jon whispered, eyes moving from Sansa’s and hand slightly faltering. “But I don’t know how to say it.”

Her heart begun to beat fast and heavy, and Sansa urged, “You can tell me anything.”

Jon dropped his hand completely and ran it through his own curly black hair. It was clear he was _nervous._

With Jon looking so ill, Sansa’s own nerves began to run through her body.

She thought of the worst and choked out, “Do you want to forget about last night? We never have to speak about it again.”  
Jon’s eyes snapped back to hers and his response was instant, “I’ll never forget about last night.”

Her breath hitched at his words, and she stepped backwards towards the wall behind her.

“And I never want to.”

Sansa’s mouth hung open slightly at his admission, and she questioned, “What do you mean?”

He moved closer to her, and continued, “I wish you weren’t drunk. I wish you’d kissed me without the drink. But Sansa, I –”

Jon stopped mid-sentence and looked at Sansa, longing and lust in his eyes. Sansa dropped her eyes to his lips, urging him to come to her. He received the message.

He reached up and gently grasped her face, pressing his lips firmly against hers. Sansa reacted instantly, pulling him close to her and leaning into the kiss. There was a sense of urgency about it. A desperation to be close to one another.  

He all but slammed her against the wall and pressed his body against hers. She opened her mouth slightly, letting Jon in. His tongue lapped in her mouth and he wound his hands in her hair, almost pulling at it. Their lips moved together seamlessly, and Sansa grasped at his back, still wanting him to be closer.

She revelled in the feel of the kiss, of Jon’s hands tugging on her braids. She moved her hands to his thighs, squeezing softly.

He pulled back at the movement before propping his hand out in front of him against the wall.

Jon looked back up at her and grunted warningly, “Sansa.”

Staring into his eyes and pursing her lips, Sansa suggested softly, “We can stop if you want.”

His response was to bring his lips feverishly to hers, biting her lip slightly. Sansa wove her hands in his hair, pulling at the string holding it together. His hips bucked into her, his hardness pushing into her core faintly. She choked out a small moan at the feel and moved her hips to meet his.

They could’ve been there for hours for all Sansa knew.

They were so lost in the kiss that they didn’t hear the sounds of footsteps coming down the hall. And they didn’t see anyone round the corner.

“Oh gods,” Sansa heard from behind Jon.

Jon pulled away immediately, launching himself across the hall and almost slamming into his own mother’s tomb. Sansa felt colder instantly with the loss of Jon’s warm body against hers.

Turning to see the intruder, Sansa’s heart slowed when she realised it was just Samwell Tarly.

“What in the hells is going on here?” Sam asked, eyes flicking between the two of them.

Jon looked at Sansa and she bit her lip, before replying, “I’m just going to -.”

Sam cut Sansa off and shook his head, “All the books in the Citadel won’t erase that from my memory.”

“What do you want Sam?” Jon asked, giving the man a sharp look.

Sansa placed her hands in front of her, trying to act as normally as possible. As if they hadn’t just been caught practically groping in front of all their dead ancestors.

“I came to find you. There’s people coming through the gates,” Sam stated. “A bunch of Ironborn.”

Sansa’s heart leapt at the words and she looked at Jon. _Bunch of Ironborn._

“I have to go,” Sansa announced before picking up her dress and basically ran through the crypts. Her feet moved with an urgency she didn’t know she possessed.

As soon as she reached the entrance, she streamlined for the gates. Sansa stopped as soon as she saw _him_. He was dismounting off a white horse, with a group of other Ironborn by his side.

Her mouth opened and tears brimmed at her eyes as she watched Theon look around the courtyard before focusing on her. He placed his hands by his side and started walking towards. She walked to meet him but watched as he stopped abruptly and turned to look next to Sansa.

Following his eyes, Sansa realised Daenerys had joined them and was standing a few feet away from her. The Dragon Queen’s mouth was wide in shock and eyebrows kneaded together.

Theon made his way towards the pair, stopping in front of them and looking at Sansa before kneeling in Daenerys’ direction.

“My queen,” he said softly.

“Your sister?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

Theon nodded gently and croaked out, “She only has a few ships … and she couldn’t sail them here. So, she’s sailing to the Iron Islands instead, to take them back in your name.”

Daenerys looked puzzled by this, and asked, “But why aren’t you with her?”

He bowed his head to the floor before moving his gaze back to Sansa, who’d never taken her eyes off him.

“I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa,” Theon started, before taking a deep breath and adding, “If you’ll have me.”

Sansa felt Daenerys’ glare as soon as he said the words, but that didn’t stop her from replying, “Always.”

She slammed into Theon giving him a firm embrace, burying her head into the nape of his neck. Tears were flowing freely now, and she grasped onto him like her life depended on it. With everything going on, she never thought she’d saw him again.

The man who saved her life.

After separating from Theon, he raised his head to look behind her. Following his gaze, she saw that Jon had quietly arrived, with his hair a complete mess and coat slightly crooked. He was staring angrily at them with his eyes narrowed and mouth in a tight line.

“I have news,” Theon announced. “We ran into some Northerners from Last Hearth, ones who didn’t leave when Lady Sansa asked them to. The dead are two days away.”

*

 

An emergency meeting was called, and Sansa left Theon to round up his men. Jon had moved inside so quickly, that Sansa didn’t get a chance to speak to him. Theon and the news had side-tracked Sansa so much she didn’t even process what had happened with Jon in the crypts, let alone consider what she looked like when she emerged.

“Jon found you then?” Arya whispered slyly, walking next to her.

Sansa snapped her head to her sisters and asked, “Excuse me?”

“Your hairs a mess and your lips are red raw.”

Instinctively patting down her hair, Sansa glared at Arya before replying, “I haven’t seen Jon.”

Arya raised her eyebrows and grinned, clearly knowing something Sansa didn’t. She didn’t have the time to push further.

Moving into the room, the first thing Sansa was greeted with was Daenerys and Jon standing basically on top of each other. Daenerys with her classic wide smile, body positioned towards Jon. Usually she wouldn’t care, but Jon was also edging towards her.

A lump formed in the pit of Sansa’s stomach. Had his cock not just been pressed against her not an hour ago? Perhaps Sansa had no right to be jealous before, but now after _that_ happened, pure rage ran through her veins.

Sansa cleared her throat before walking over to stand next to Jon, keeping her head up and hands placed firmly behind her back. His head immediately turned to face her as she settled next to him, but she did not meet his eyes or greet Daenerys.

He moved his body close to hers, so close his thigh brushed hers. She stepped sidewards, and glared at Jon. Did he think Sansa was an idiot? That she would allow herself to be used and disregarded. Especially after everything she’d been through.

He opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by the arrival of the men and women joining their meeting.

Sansa pushed her feelings aside, she needed to focus on the meeting. On protecting her home and her people.  

“They’re coming. We have two days,” Jon began ominously. “We have dragon glass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them and not enough of us. Our enemy doesn’t tire, doesn’t stop, doesn’t feel. We can’t beat them in a straight fight.”

The faces around the table looked puzzled, confused by Jon’s words.

“So, what can we do?” asked Jorah, who had joined Daenerys and stood tall beside her.

“Aim for the strongest one – the Night King,” Jon answered. “If he falls, they all fall.”

Jaime was the next to question Jon, “But if that’s true, he’ll never expose himself.”

The table went silent, and no one had an answer or a suggestion.

Except Bran.

“Yes, he will,” he said slowly. “He’ll come for me.”

Sansa turned to look at her brother and asked, “Why?”

“I hold the key to civilisation. The key to something he wants to end forever and take back what was taken from him.”

Samwell nodded his head and added, “Without you, holding the memories of the past and present, this world would never come back. If I wanted to obliterate the world of men, you’d be at the top of my list.”

Her heart raced at the thought of her brother, her baby brother, being the target of the Night King. Bran wasn’t who he once was, but he was still Bran.

“I won’t be hard to find,” Bran stated, lifting his sleeve up slightly. “His mark is on me. He always knows where I am.”

“Then we will put you in the crypts where it is safest,” Jon said.

Bran shook his head, “No, you’ll put me in the Godswood so I can lure him out.”

“You want us to use you as bait?” Sansa replied, voice rising.

Arya turned her head and back Sansa up, “We’re not leaving you alone out there.”

The room fell quiet once more, before Sansa saw Theon move towards Bran.

“He won’t be alone,” he started. “I’ll stay with him. With the other Ironborn.”

Her body froze at his words, and Sansa watched as he stood in front of Bran.

“I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now,” he said bowing his head.

*

 

JON

 

By the time the meeting was over, everyone was on edge. They tried not to show it, but Jon knew. Each and every one of them was scared absolutely shitless.

_Two days._

He watched as Sansa stormed out of the meeting without a glance and waited until almost everyone had left the room to follow.

His feet had just begun to move when he felt a small hand clutch his arm and hold him back.

“Did you want to join me in my solar tonight?” Daenerys asked, hand squeezing him. “We may only have two days left; I don’t want to spend them alone.”

Jon stepped back and let her hand drop to her sides. He didn’t want to spend his last two nights faking anything. He’d play the charade in public, but Jon wasn’t sacrificing any more of his integrity by bedding the woman.

He also refused to throw away whatever was happening with Sansa, just to keep the queen happy.

“I’m exhausted, Dany,” Jon said. “I just want to go back to my chambers and rest.”

Her eyes narrowed and she spat, “It seems like you’re always too tired for me.”

“I have a million things to do each day, a million people to see and look after,” Jon began, anger slipping into his tone. “I’m not going to apologise for doing my duty to my people.”

 _And I don’t want to let slip that I’m the heir to the Iron Throne and could ruin your chances at it,_ Jon thought.

“All I ask for is a bit of your time,” Daenerys pressed. “I thought …”

Jon knew exactly what she thought. And Jon also knew he had to keep her thinking it. At least for a little while longer.

 Looking at Daenerys, Jon reluctantly said, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We will spend some time together tomorrow, at dawn,” Jon said, forcing a small smile. “We can feed the dragons or whatever you’d like.”

Daenerys’ eyes brightened at the prospect and she asked, “Can I walk you to your chambers?”

Jon nodded and he let her hold his arm as they walked together. There was a silence between them, one that usually Daenerys would try to fill. Jon was grateful she hadn’t.

Once they rounded the corner to his chambers, Daenerys looked up at him and said, “I hope you know how happy I am to be here, _with_ you. Even if you’re a little busy.”

Jon nodded, forcing a small smile, “Aye, me too.”

“Goodnight, Lord Snow,” she said, dropping her arm and turning away.

Stepping into his chambers, Jon closed his eyes and let out a long sigh of relief. When he opened them, he saw a figure sitting in the chair across from him.

Jumping back in fright, Jon looked closer to see the waves of red hair cascading down their back.  

“ _Gods, Sansa!_ ” he exclaimed. “A little bloody warning would have been nice.”

Sansa turned around and rolled her eyes, “I couldn’t warn you with _her_ there. She already wants me dead, imagine if she’d seen me in your chambers.”

“She does not want you dead,” Jon said. “She just wants you to respect her.”

“I am not going to respect someone just because they tell me to,” Sansa spat. “Here in the North, you _earn_ people’s respect. She needs to learn that.”

Nodding and walking towards her, Jon felt his heart pumping and blood rushing to his head at the sight. Her hair was still slightly undone, with pieces of red hair askew. He’d noticed it at the meeting, but the news of the dead had pushed the thoughts from his mind.

She still didn’t look pleased, with her eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

“What is it?” Jon asked, stopping a few steps away from her. “If it’s about today …”

“You can’t just kiss me,” Sansa begun, twisting Jon’s stomach, before adding, “And then go and touch Daenerys straight after. I won’t be used.”

Jon’s eyes went wide and he quickly retorted, “I wasn’t touching Daenerys, she was bloody touching me. You think I wanted that?”

“I don’t know,” was her reply.

Jon felt like tearing his hair out in frustration, was what happened in the crypt still not any indication of what exactly he wanted?

“Sansa, none of this matters,” Jon said in annoyance.

Sansa shook her head, “So what happened last night and today, in the crypts - that doesn’t matter to you?”

Scoffing, Jon replied, “The squabbling about _Daenerys Targaryen_ doesn’t matter. And it’s not how I want to spend what may be my last two days living.”

“I won’t apologise for not trusting her and for being irritated by her affections for _you_ ,” she replied shakily.

“I’m not asking you to apologise, I’m asking you to let it go until after the Long Night,” Jon pleaded. “The Night King doesn’t care who respects who or who’s Queen of what. Without Daenerys and her dragons, we don’t stand a chance.”

Sansa lowered her hands and replied, “You’re lying to her. You’re making her think you and her will –”

“I had to make her believe what I wanted her to believe,” Jon admitted. “But her and I are never going to happen. Not when it’s _you_ I want.”

Closing the distance, Jon pulled her to him and traced the outline of her jaw. Sansa lent in and pushed her lips firmly onto Jon’s, tongue immediately demanding entrance into his mouth. Her hands pulled at his hair, and she moved her hips against his firmly. It was so brazen, so unlike Sansa. Jon revelled in it.

When she pulled away, Jon raised his eyebrows in confusion, but then she pulled off her chain and undid her braids hastily.

“Sansa, what are –”

Her response was to slam her lips back to his before taking off his cape. Jon watched with wide eyes as she pulled on the strings of her dress and peeled it off. Standing before him with just her undergarments, Jon could see the outline of her breasts and the hard nipples poking through. His cock was rock hard and pulsating with desire for the woman in front of him.

“Wait, Sansa,” Jon said with a husky voice, ignoring the feeling in his pants. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to. I’m not asking you-”

Sansa met his uncertainties with dropping her undergarments to the ground in a pile and giving him a small smile.

“We have two days to make up for two years,” Sansa begun. “We better get started.”


	5. a last supper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new connection is forged and more secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! life happens! NSFW for the beginning.

SANSA

 

“We better get started.”

Sansa had been bold. Bolder than she ever thought she could be. But with death almost certain at this point, Sansa didn’t want to waste another second. She wanted Jon. And with the way Jon was staring at her, she knew he wanted her too.

Within moments of her uttering the words, he was sweeping Sansa up into his arms and all but throwing her on his bed.

In seconds, his lips were all over hers and Sansa snaked her hand into the brim of his pants, tugging gently. She could not be this naked alone.

As Jon begun to tear his own clothes off, Sansa’s core heated layer by layer in anticipation. She grabbed his waist as he pulled his undergarments off, pulling him closer to her. But when Sansa was left privy to the scars scattered over his chest, her hand stilled, and mouth opened slightly.

Sansa felt him tense beneath her hands, and she slowly traced over them gently, a deep sadness quelling inside her. She knew of what happened at the Night’s Watch, but nothing could have prepared her for seeing the aftermath in reality.

Looking back up at Jon, his eyes bore into hers, almost worried about her reaction. As if he thought she may find him repulsive. Or damaged.

Pulling Jon down on top of her, Sansa pushed her lips onto his slowly and sweetly, before raking a hand up his bare back. The air became tense with desire and Jon almost cautiously positioned himself between Sansa’s legs.

He deepened the kiss and pressed his manhood firmly against her core, igniting a fire within Sansa’s body that she didn’t know she had anymore. Instinctively, she bucked up to meet him, causing Jon to still in her arms and pull away.

“You’ll tell me if you want to stop?” Jon asked worriedly. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or do anything you don’t want me to.”

She couldn’t help but shiver at his words - at the implication. Sansa didn’t want to think about her past in this moment but was grateful for Jon’s kindness.

Sansa smiled softly at Jon and replied simply, “I want this.”

Nodding his head, Jon begun to trail heavy kisses down her body, stopping at her nipples and sucking gently. Quivering at the sensation, Sansa raked her hands through his hair. Slowly, Jon moved his way down her torso, pausing just a breath away from her core. Confusion swept through Sansa, and she wondered what in the hells he was doing.

“What are you – oh,” Sansa moaned as Jon dipped between her folds with his tongue. She hadn’t heard about this from her septa.

It was a feeling unlike Sansa had ever felt before, it was like a steady rise of pleasure as Jon massaged her core, searching for her sweet spot. Sansa was sure he’d done this before, because he wasn’t furiously lapping his tongue for the sake of it. Instead he paced himself, with each swirl of his tongue bringing a wave pleasure.

Jon lifted a hand from her waist to caress her breasts, slightly pinching her nipple. She felt his arousal with a groan into her folds.

She kneaded her hands in his hair once more, gently pulling on the brown curls as if she was trying to keep Jon’s face planted there. Sansa felt the slight scratch of his beard against her, digging in as Jon brought her closer to her finish. 

Sansa felt him remove a hand from her waist and bring it down to her core, gently pressing a single digit into her.

“Jon,” Sansa moaned loudly at the new sensation, throwing her head back onto the pillow. Her core tightening with each pulse of his finger, the build-up of heat becoming almost too much to bear.

Jon popped his head up slightly and whispered huskily, “Peak, Sansa.”

A rush of pleasure ran through her veins, her body seemingly exploding at the seams. It was a sensation unlike any she’d experienced before.

Her core was shuddering, and her breath heavy. She felt weightless. She felt free.

Lifting her head up, Sansa watched as Jon smiled lazily and made his way up her body to plant a gentle kiss on her lips. As he lowered himself between her legs again, Sansa felt the hardness of his cock against her pulsating core.

“We can stop,” Jon suggested with raised eyebrows, trying to decipher Sansa’s thoughts. “We can wait.”

In response, Sansa pressed her lips to Jon’s and reached down to guide his manhood into her folds.

He moaned brashly into Sansa’s mouth at the feeling, before taking her in his arms and almost cautiously pushing into her. She met his caution by deepening the kiss and scraping a hand down his back, urging him to continue.

At Sansa’s encouragement, Jon pulled away and placed his hands on either side of her head, thrusting more confidently into her. Sansa couldn’t help the guttural moan that escaped her lips, and it only made Jon pump more fiercely. The sound of their skin slapping together echoed around the room and it only made Sansa even more aroused.

Instinctively wrapping her legs firmly around his back, Sansa didn’t know the action would elicit such a reaction in Jon.

“Fuck, Sansa,” Jon groaned, pressing into her more firmly.

Pressing her legs harder against his back, Sansa dug her nails into Jon’s skin and sunk her teeth into his shoulder. His thrusts were becoming increasingly erratic, and whilst Sansa wasn’t ready for it to be over, she could tell he needed release.

Sansa began meeting Jon’s thrusts at her own pace, with Jon grunting loudly at the action.

“Jon,” Sansa moaned.

His face fell next to hers as Sansa felt his warm seed fill her, his cock pulsating heavily inside her.

They lay together frozen for a few moments, both grappling with what had just happened. Neither quite believing it.

Jon lifted his face first, studying Sansa. She smiled gently, trying to ensure him she was fine. That she was more than fine.

He dropped a small kiss to her forehead and rolled next to her, Sansa immediately feeling the loss. 

“Was that… okay?” Jon questioned. “I was worried -.”

Sansa pressed a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shh.”

He pursed his lips, smiling slightly. Dropping her finger to his shoulder, Sansa splayed her hands across his skin, wanting the warmth it provided.

“Stay with me?” he asked, cupping her hand and keeping it where it was.

“Always.”

*

When her eyes opened the next morning, Sansa forgot where she was for just a moment. However, the feeling of Jon’s arm around her waist, and the soreness between her legs reminded her rather quickly.

Turning over slowly, a smile spread across her face as she saw Jon sleeping soundly. She watched his steady breaths and eyes slightly fluttering, and Sansa thought maybe for once he may be at peace.

Looking over his half-uncovered body, Sansa noticed the small red bite mark on his shoulder, and she wondered what further damage she may have caused in the moment.

The curtains were pulled, but the slight sunlight at the bottom of the window told Sansa that it was past dawn and she wished she could stay. Curled up in Jon’s bed, naked and free from their troubles.

But duty called, and Sansa must answer it. They were on the countdown now, and Sansa couldn’t waste a moment getting the North ready. She also very desperately needed a bath.

Gently removing his arm, Sansa pressed a small kiss to his forehead before sliding out of the bed. Luckily, thanks to her seductive antics the night before, her clothes were conveniently laying in a pile across the room.

Dressing quickly, Sansa wondered if she should thread a few braids through her hair, just in case she encounters someone on the way to her chambers.

After a few moments she decided against it, her chambers were three doors down, Sansa thought surely no one would be around this early in the morning.

Looking back at a still soundly sleeping Jon, Sansa quietly moved towards the door. Her hand was gently grasping the handle when a small knock at the door made her jump back.

Who in the hells?

Carefully walking over to Jon as the door knocked once more, Sansa gently nudged him into consciousness.

“Jon,” she whispered.

His eyes opened immediately, and he sprung up, sitting up straight and head spinning around.

“What?” Jon half-yelled. “What’s happened?”

“It’s just me, you need to be quiet,” Sansa said quietly, as yet another small knock came from the hallway. “There’s someone at the door.”

Jon’s eyes settled on Sansa, forgetting about the person at the door. Sansa watched his face drop as he realised that she was dressed. 

He pursed his lips before yelling out, “Who is it?”

“It’s just me,” a small voice said from outside, sending chills down Sansa’s spine. She knew that voice. “You said to meet at dawn, and it’s past dawn. I thought you would be at my chambers by now, Jon.”

Sansa raised her eyebrows at Jon, and he gently laid a hand on hers to reassure her.

“I apologise, Your Grace,” Jon said, before adding. “If you will give me a minute, I can meet you in the courtyard and we will go.”

“Can I not just come in?” Daenerys asked, frustration seeping in.

Jon’s response was immediate, “I’ll be out soon, Dany.”

Sansa waited until her footsteps echoed away from the door to even breathe again.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Jon insisted, pulling the furs off him and sliding out of the bed.

She tried not to look, but her core tingled at the sight of Jon naked in the light. Memories of the night before flashed before her eyes and Sansa wanted to throw Jon down and do it all over again.

But he had other plans.

“I had to keep her on side, Sansa,” Jon started, pulling on his pants, ignorant to the fire growing inside Sansa. “She was insisting on spending time alone together, and this might be the last time I ever have to.”

Sansa was slightly irritated but understood that Jon had to do something. Anyone with eyes could see Daenerys was getting restless. And after everything that had happened the night before, Sansa wasn’t insecure about Daenerys anymore.

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Sansa said, turning away from Jon. “You have to keep up the act.”

His arm wrapped slowly around her waist from behind, and Sansa fell slightly into the movement.

Jon pressed a gentle kiss to her neck before whispering, “I’d rather spend the morning with you.”

She smiled and turned her body to embrace Jon, his chest still bare. The sight of his scars still saddened her, but Jon was alive. He was here and he was hers. That’s all that mattered.

Pulling away from Jon, Sansa asked, “Find me later?”

Jon grasped her face and pressed a long, tender kiss to her lips before answering, “Aye, I’ll escape as soon as I can.”

Smiling, Sansa made her way out of his chambers and hurried down the hall into her own. She was slightly scared Daenerys might still be lingering, but by the grace of the gods the hall was completely empty.

Moving quietly, past Arya and Bran’s chambers, Sansa slowly opened the handle to hers. Opening the door and sneaking in as silently as she could, Sansa let out a heavy breath as she entered the safety of her solar.

Until a husky voice in the corner of her chambers gave Sansa her second fright of the day.

“Well, well, well, look what the wind blew in.”

Sansa froze and her eyes followed the voice to a sprawled-out body on her chair, playing with a Valyrian steel knife.

She didn’t look at Sansa, but asked, “And just where have you been?”

“I just took a morning walk,” Sansa answered too quickly. “It’s a nice day.”

Sitting up slowly, Arya slid the knife back into her pocket and raised her eyebrows.

“Must’ve been a long walk ‘cause I’ve been here since midnight.”

Instinctively patting down her hair, Sansa lifted her head up straight and said, “Well, I was in the library, sorting through -”

But Arya interrupted her with a loud scoff. Waltzing over to stand in front of Sansa, the smaller girl crossed her arms and smirked slightly.

“I’m going to stop you right there and let you know that I’ve been here for so long because I made the unfortunate choice to walk past Jon’s chamber late last night to get to my own.”

Sansa raised her eyebrows and asked, “And? Why didn’t you just go to yours?”

“Because what I heard, Sansa, has quite frankly scarred me more deeply than being stabbed in the gut.”

Sansa’s face drained of colour, and a pit was forming in her stomach so large she though it may swallow her whole.

“When did you get stabbed?” Sansa replied, even though Arya had already told her the story.

“Stop deflecting, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Arya said with a disgusted look etched across her face. “And I’m just going to say this once, you both need to quieten down. Because if I heard it, Bran heard it. And if Bran heard it, you can almost guarantee the Dragon Queen’ll know about it. We don’t need two dragons raining fire on Winterfell because you and Jon couldn’t wait two more bloody days.”

Sansa stood frozen, completely stunned by Arya’s reaction or lack thereof, of her and Jon. She wondered if Jon had confided in her at some point.

Pursing her lips, Sansa asked quietly, “How loud was it exactly?”  
Arya smiled and said, “Loud. I’m surprised Brienne didn’t come running at the sound.”

“Arya!”

*

JON

 

“I think Rhaegal has taken a liking to you,” Daenerys said as she fed another piece of meat to Drogon.

Jon nodded slightly and kept patting Rhaegal on the back. It was a strange feeling, not patting a dragon, but being so close to the dragons and knowing what he knew. That dragons were essentially in his blood.

He wondered if Daenerys ever questioned why Jon was connecting so well with Rhaegal. If she ever thought past her own affections for Jon and realised the truth.

Jon wondered many things about Daenerys. About her decisions, her thoughts, her plans for the future. Her state of mind.

He’d seen her smiling as the people of Wintertown cowered at the sight of her dragons. Jon needed to know that he hadn’t brought a mad woman into Winterfell.

“Dany?” Jon questioned, leaving Rhaegal to stand with her. “What happens after all of this?”

Daenerys turned her head to face him, and said, “What do you mean? I thought it was pretty clear.”

“I mean, what happens after Cersei surrenders,” Jon pushed. “What happens to the rest of her men?”

She raised her eyebrows and gave Jon a confused smile, “I’ll give them the same choice I gave to the Lannister and Tarly men at The Reach. Bend the knee or refuse and die.”

Jon swayed slightly to the side with her calm words, and he almost said something dangerous about how that was simply not the way to do things. Before he recognised the name.

“Tarly men?”

“Yes, Randyll and Dickon Tarly and their men,” Daenerys replied as her eyes drooped slowly down.

“And they bent the knee?” Jon questioned further, although he already knew the answer.

Daenerys rose her head slightly and said, “No, they did not.”

The breath was knocked from Jon’s lungs and he felt his body immediately recoil away from hers. How in the hells had he not heard about this? How had Sam not heard about this?

“So, you just burnt them? Burnt them all alive?” Jon questioned, trying to keep the distaste from his mouth. “Surely there was a better way.”

Her eyes narrowed and she replied, “There is no other way, Jon. They need to accept me.”

“They can’t accept you if they’re dead, Daenerys.”

The tension between them was heavy, and Jon knew he might have overstepped the mark. He tried to calm down, to put his façade back up. But he just couldn’t. He couldn’t pretend to follow a queen like this.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Lord Snow,” she said, climbing up on Drogon’s back. “I hope you feel differently later.”

Jon watched as she soared into the sunlight with her children and almost kicked himself for being so forthright. If she didn’t return, they were truly fucked. Her men would almost certainly not fight for the North without her, and they needed the dragon fire.

He hoped that with Jorah and her army still at Winterfell, Daenerys would return. But after her actions of late, he wasn’t so sure.

Stomping through the snow into the courtyard, Jon caught a flash of red hair flowing across the castle balcony and his cheeks almost instantly flushed with blood.

He still couldn’t quite believe last night. The sound of Sansa’s moans, her face when she peaked, the way it felt to be inside her. He’d never dreamed he’d be able to kiss her anywhere other than the forehead, let alone bed her. It felt like a dream within a nightmare. A dream that he could love Sansa and she could love him back, but a nightmare that they had to still pretend they didn’t to everyone else.

He wished he could seek her out now and spend every waking moment of the next two days with her. But they had responsibilities to their people.

And right now, Jon had a responsibility to his brother. 

Opening the door to the library, Jon was relieved to see Sam reading quietly in a large wooden chair.

“Morning,” Sam greeted with a smile. “How was your outing with Daenerys?”

Jon raised his brows and asked, “How did you know about that?”

“I ran into Sansa,” he replied with a knowing glare. “She didn’t seem particularly impressed, but I think she was still rather embarrassed after what went on yesterday.”

Sliding into the chair next to Sam, Jon said, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said with a gentle smile. “I think it’s actually quite nice. After you look over the fact you were raised as siblings.”

Jon scoffed and almost went to say something snarky back until he remembered with a chill what he was here to tell Sam.

“I need to tell you something,” Jon begun with a catch in his throat. “About your father and your brother.”

Sam’s face twitched slightly, and he questioned Jon with a frown, “What about them? I didn’t realise you knew them.”  
Biting his tongue, Jon’s throat was now completely dry. He struggled to find the right words to say. To break the news.

“I didn’t know them,” Jon said cautiously, dipping his head down slightly. “Well Sam, they fought at The Reach. Against Daenerys.”

Sam nodded, urging Jon to continue. Jon scratched absentmindedly at his hair and cleared his throat loudly.

“And when they lost, Daenerys gave your father and the other men an ultimatum.”

The other man relaxed significantly into his chair and Sam chuckled, “Oh is he at the Wall? Isn’t that ironic. He lands in the place he sent me to die.”

Shaking his head, Jon said huskily, “They’re not at the Wall, Sam. Daenerys gave them a choice, bend the knee or … die.”

Sam’s lips quivered faintly, and his shoulder tensed, Jon could tell he already knew what was coming.

“And they didn’t bend.”

For once, it was silent between them. Sam’s watery eyes moved to stare across the room, and Jon reached out to place a comforting hand on his back.

Jon mistook Sam’s quietness for sadness, and he offered a gentle apology for his loss.

“She just burned them?” Sam asked angrily. “Burned them both alive, with no thought or discussion?”

“Aye, and she plans to keep doing it once we’ve taken King’s Landing.”

Sam shot Jon a furious look, eyebrows narrowed and voice shaking, “She can’t be Queen, Jon. It would be like the Mad King all over again.”

He didn’t disagree with him. Daenerys certainly had the same tendencies of her father, and Jon could see how with each battle she wins, she gets more arrogant with power.

But his thoughts started and ended with the next surviving The Long Night. He couldn’t think past that.

“Aye, Sam. She shouldn’t be queen,” Jon agreed. “And I know you’re hurting and what she’s done is horrible. But we need her armies and her dragons to win this fight. We all need to keep pretending until then. You understand me? Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jon. I wouldn’t go after her now. But …” Sam started before taking a deep breath. “You need to take the Throne, Jon. Before you say it – yes, I know you don’t want it. But Westeros will need you after all of this.”

Jon shook his head almost violently. He couldn’t fathom the idea of sitting on that throne. He’d said it once and he’ll keep saying it to anyone that tries to push it on him. His future was in the North. With Sansa. With his family.

Most of whom would never willingly step foot in the South again. Especially not Sansa.

“We get through these next few days, and then we sort out what comes next,” Jon said firmly.

“Whether you take the Throne or not, Jon. She’ll never be my queen,” Sam spat at Jon.

“Aye, and she’ll never be mine.”

*  
SANSA  


“Do you think there’s enough space?” Sansa asked the tall blonde woman next to her.

Brienne nodded firmly, “I believe so, my Lady. Most people have been evacuated and those who remain will fit nicely.”

Sansa place a hand on her father’s tomb. She wondered what he would have done, if he were alive. She wondered whether he was proud of them. Or disgusted. Would he have approved?

Likely not, she thought solemnly. Dropping her hand to her side, Sansa picked up her torch and examined the other tombs.

“Do you think it’s dangerous to be staying here? With the dead?” Sansa asked. “When the Night King is known to raise the dead?”

Brienne raised her brows and inspected the tomb more closely.

“It should hold, even if he does try to raise them,” Brienne concluded. “Perhaps we should put some men down here, just in case.”

Sansa thought for a moment, before shaking her head and deciding, “No, they need all the men they can get outside the crypts.”

“Lady Sansa, we need to protect you and everyone else in the crypts,” Brienne insisted. “I’m sure Jon would agree with me.”

Sansa shot her a look with raised eyebrows and replied with a smirk, “Would Jaime?”

She watched as Brienne avoided her eyes and led the way out of the crypts. Sansa had seen the way they looked at each other, the way Jaime clearly idolised her.

“You don’t have to keep it a secret you know,” Sansa said softly. “You and Jaime. I have no qualms against it, rather the opposite in fact.”

She meant her words, and Sansa approved of the match, if there was one, despite their difficult history. From her formative years in Kings Landing, Sansa understood the depths of Cersei’s emotional manipulation. She reconciled that whilst Jaime is not entirely innocent of his actions, he’s not entirely guilty either.

“There is no ‘Jaime and I’,” Brienne stated after a short pause.

Stopping in the courtyard, Sansa looked into the taller woman’s eyes and pushed, “But you would like there to be? Some day?”

Brienne flushed bright red and turned her head away from Sansa. She left it there, not wanting to make Brienne even more uncomfortable then she likely already was. It would happen in time, if they were granted any.

“Could you send for my family and Theon?” Sansa asked. “Let them know I’d like to see them in my solar for dinner.”

“Of course, my Lady.”

*

 

When Sansa heard the first knock on her door, it was two hours too early and she’d just dipped herself inside the tub. She liked bathing alone. Ever since Miranda.

“Who is it?” she yelled cautiously.

“Just me,” answered Jon from behind the door. “Can I come in?”

Biting her lip, Sansa sat up and lifted herself from the tub before stopping herself. Her core tingled at the thought of Jon seeing her like this. Perhaps

“I can come back.”

Settling back in the tub, Sansa said confidently, “No, come in.”

The door slammed open, and Jon basically barged in like he was so accustomed to doing. However, Sansa heard his footsteps stop suddenly and the door crash shut as Jon saw that Sansa was bathing. She could hear his heavy breaths, and the sound of his hands running through his hair.

Turning her head slightly to look at him, Sansa smiled and grabbed the bar of soap from next to her.

“Well, why don’t you make yourself useful?” Sansa asked, offering the soap to him.

Jon was flushed, his face bright red and burning, as he usually was whenever Sansa was the slightest bit wanton towards him.

Eventually he reached out and grabbed the bar from Sansa and poured water gently over her hair. Relaxing her body and stretching out, Sansa revelled in the feel of his tender touch, the feeling of him caressing his fingers through her hair. It was extremely intimate, having someone who wasn’t a lady’s maid washing her hair. She closed her eyes, feeling at peace despite the danger ahead of them. Both from the White Walkers and Daenerys.

The sun was disappearing around them, and she knew that she would need to dry herself and dress shortly for dinner with her family, but Sansa dragged it out as much as possible.

When he was done, Jon washed out the soap and pressed gentle kisses to her bare shoulder. Leaning her head to one side, Sansa almost moaned when he began to pepper kisses across her back and up her neck.

“I missed you today,” she whispered. “How was it? Your outing with Daenerys?”

When Jon didn’t reply, Sansa turned to face him with her brows raised. His mouth was pursed, and he grabbed the tub with one hand. Obviously, it hadn’t gone well.

“I think I made her angry,” Jon replied warily. “I disagreed with her and you know how she gets when I don’t play along.”

“What did you disagree about?” Sansa asked.

He looked at her with dark eyes, and Sansa could tell he was nervous to tell her. Worried that if he told her, she might do something reckless.

“Jon, it’s alright. Tell me.”

The man took a deep breath in and gently cupped Sansa’s face before recounting the information he’d found out earlier. But no amount of affection would appease Sansa at this point in time. Her face turned to stone and her veins burned in anger and irritation. She’d known about the Reach, how she’d burnt through supplies, but she hadn’t heard about the Tarly’s.

With this new knowledge, it was even more clear to her that Daenerys was not to be trusted. Not with the North and definitely not with the South. It was like she did not understand the loyalties that stretch hundreds and even thousands of years between houses. How not everyone could just bend the knee to a foreign queen with two full grown dragons. Of course, everyone kills in war. And people also kill people who oppose them. But the lack of empathy, remorse or plain common sense was what got to Sansa.

“Say something,” Jon pleaded.

But she couldn’t. She was frustrated. She was angry. She had been right about Daenerys, but there was nothing she could do to stop her yet.

Stepping out of the tub, Jon passed her a cloth to dry with. As she bounced around her room grabbing a dress and brushing out her hair, trying to wrap her head around what had happened and how she was going to face Daenerys, Sansa could feel Jon’s insecurity.

“I’m not mad at you,” Sansa said genuinely. “It’s just hard, knowing what I know and not being able to do anything about it.”  
Jon grabbed her waist softly and brought her close to him, “I won’t let her hurt you. Or anyone else.”

She traced his jaw slowly, and whispered, “You can’t promise me that.”

“I can and I do,” Jon replied strongly, despite the pain in his eyes.

Leaning in, Sansa pressed her lips against Jon’s, drawing him in. Her hands quickly wrapped around his head and in his hair, deepening the kiss. She was not yet fully clothed, and Jon splayed his hands across her back, reaching down to her arse and grabbing it cheekily.

“Jon!” Sansa exclaimed, breaking the kiss. “Save that for later.”

“As you command, my Lady,” Jon replied, with the slight tone of humour. Something Sansa did not see from Jon often.

Dressing in a simple black dress, Sansa and Jon curled up on her bed. She knew it wouldn’t be long until everyone arrived for what may be their last supper, but she wanted to be close to Jon as much as she could.

“Should I leave and come back? So, it’s not obvious I’ve been in here with you?” Jon asked shyly, clasping his hand with hers.

Sansa rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t think anyone would notice.”

“I think Arya would.”

Laughing at the words, Sansa asked, “When did you tell her about us?”

“Before there was an _us_ ,” Jon replied sheepishly. “I asked her advice.”

Raising her eyebrows, Sansa could almost laugh again. Jon asking _Arya_ about his love life with her sister.

A small knock came at the door which forced Jon and Sansa apart. He moved across the room, sitting in one of the chairs Sansa had brought in for dinner.

Opening the door, Sansa was unsurprised to see Bran being wheeled in by Pod right on time. Ushering him in, she thanked Pod for bringing Bran and sent him on his way to drink with Tyrion, Jaime and Brienne. Bran eyed Sansa’s crumpled bed sheets for a moment before smirking slyly at Sansa.

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him and almost questioned him, until another knock at the door interrupted her.

This time it was Theon, waiting with his hands behind his back. He smiled gently at Sansa, and she gave him a reassuring embrace.

“Don’t be nervous,” Sansa insisted. “You’re welcome here.”

He nodded slightly and walked to the table, where Jon avoided his eyes. Sansa sensed Jon was not too pleased with him being there, but how could she not ask him? After everything, Sansa couldn’t spend this night without him.

Arya arrived late and barged her way in without knocking, as was to be expected, but what Sansa was not expecting was her dragging Gendry along with her.

“Arya,” Sansa greeted with raised brows. “Gendry.”

“Lady Stark,” Gendry replied. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

Arya grinned at Sansa, almost daring her to say something. But Sansa wasn’t going to bite. This was for family, and Sansa supposed perhaps Gendry would become family someday.

The dinner was not extraordinary, as rations wouldn’t allow it. But just being with each other, despite the small amount of space, was comforting. Especially with what lay ahead.

The group talked and joked and drank, and it almost felt like they were children again. Sansa felt the loss of Robb, Rickon, Mother and Father, but she couldn’t help feeling empowered. They’d made it this far in this game.

Jon’s hand had been planted on her thigh the entire time, hidden away from watchful eyes. She suspected Arya knew what was happening, but she said nothing. Perhaps out of fear that Sansa may say something about Gendry. Sansa liked the casual touch; it made her feel almost normal. Made her feel like maybe after all of this _they_ could be normal.

After the plates had been cleared, Jon looked at her and then subtly to the bed. Sansa grinned slightly, understanding the message.

Standing up, Sansa had just opened her mouth to wish the group a goodnight when a loud knock came at the door.

Shooting Jon a worried glance, fearing it may be Daenerys, who would most likely be on the hunt for Jon at this time of night.

Walking slowly to the door, Sansa pulled it back and was surprised to see a fidgeting Tyrion standing at her door, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar.

“What’s happened?” Sansa asked, shielding her family from him. He need not know that this was where Jon had been holed up all night and not with his queen.

Tyrion bit his lip and looked up to the ceiling. His hands were clasped at his side and his fear was radiating from his body. After the events of today, Sansa was fully expecting him to inform her Daenerys would not be returning, and her armies marching South.

“Tyrion, what is it?” Sansa urged sternly. “We don’t have time for this.”

“No, we really don’t,” he finally said, eyes dropping back to Sansa. “Daenerys just landed. We were wrong about the White Walkers. They’re not coming tomorrow.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she almost imagined him saying that they weren’t coming at all. That by some miracle they’d packed up and walked right back North.

But Sansa knew better than to believe in miracles.

“They’re coming tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are like crack to fanfic authors so please let me know your thoughts!!!


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